


mayfly

by honeyteeth



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Repression, Slow Burn, only in a few parts but tagging just in case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyteeth/pseuds/honeyteeth
Summary: Lupin seems to have met somebody that looks to be the perfect rival for him, but looks can quite often be deceiving. So, when a good thing turns sour, he and his friends must call upon Zenigata to team up in a temporary truce and put this creep out of business.Temporary truces, apparently, can also quite often be deceiving.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	1. second time's never the charm

“I swear to God if you sneeze…" Lupin murmured from the backside of the painting, his expression shifting from one of deep concentration to as serious as physically possible, brows furrowing and mouth drawing into a deepset frown, anxiety creeping into his belly. On the other side of him, carefully holding the edge of the canvas, stood Jigen, who had stopped mid-shimmy out of the exhibit with what was only every thief’s worst nightmare: dust getting caught up in his nose. 

“Just-- just gimme a sec, man,” Jigen whispered from his side of the painting, scraggly beard pressing up against the milk-smooth skin of the dear, sweet Ophelia, her vacant stare gazing out into space and clammy hands somewhat folded at her middle, lips parted and deader than a doornail. On the backside of the canvas, Lupin only grit his teeth, eyebrow twitching in irritation. 

“Jigen dear,” he hissed through his molars, feeling sweat begin to bead on his crinkled forehead, eyes darting nervously to and from the exit point that they had agreed upon, which was a spot on the wall in which Goemon would cut a perfectly sized door out of when given the signal. Of course, though, the damned signal couldn’t be given if they were stalled up like this all due to a sneeze. “we don’t have  _ a sec,  _ you ass, if we don’t get going now, Pops’ll be on us like an ant to sugar,” 

“That’s a stupid comparison,” Jigen snorted, though he began to shuffle lightly along the marble floor, and for that, Lupin was grateful, if not a little on-edge as he quickly surveyed their surroundings, stomach churning with that giddy perturbation that so often came with completing a heist near perfectly. 

“What, you have any better ones?” He spat, rolling his eyes, each step moving in tandem with Jigen’s own, and he could only hope that the gunman was keeping watch on  _ his  _ side of the painting as well. With their cheeks pressed up against the surface of it, neither was able to turn their head, so there was a significant blindspot  _ unless  _ both of them followed through properly with their part to be played. 

The gunman scoffed from behind the thick canvas and momentarily adjusted it to prevent his fingers from slipping. “Sure,” he responded cattily, his attitude most definitely matching his partner’s on this fairly sour night. 

Tonight’s heist had been a relatively simple one, or at least as simple as stealing the famous Ophelia from the Tate museum in the United Kingdom could possibly be. A quick grab-and-go operation, one that wasn’t so much of a challenge as it was to make a few extra bucks due to the steady decrease in cash since their last heist to swipe the Blue Belle of Asia, which was a magnificently enormous cushion-cut sapphire necklace from Sri Lanka, and one that was worth all 392.52 carats. Of course, the money they had earned from that caper would’ve lasted eons longer had they not dropped their guard around Fujiko, who took off with most of the spoils, only leaving Lupin and his friends with a couple thousand to work with while she kicked back somewhere in one of her ridiculously expensive beach houses.

Obviously, everybody had been excruciatingly bitter towards Lupin (because it was absolutely his fault and his fault only that they had lost so much of their earnings to dear, sweet Fujicakes; there was no doubt about that), and demanded that he plan something new to make up for the behemoth loss. 

He did it, of course, because as deeply as he hated to admit it, the dent in their earnings was affecting him quite negatively, and he found that paying the rent at their current safe house, which was little more than a ramshackle apartment, was becoming more of a pain now that he actually had to ration out the money. So he slapped something together, last minute and only a little bit sloppy and most definitely born from spite, though it was plenty enough to make both Jigen and Goemon both cease their incessant bellyaching for a little bit to actually go through with the damned plan. 

It was to--obviously-- take Ophelia, who Lupin considered to be one of his many first loves when he was just starting out as a young, starry-eyed thief who wanted to be just like his dearly beloved gramps. Arsène Lupin the First had stolen her twice, though he never did get around to selling her, apparently just wanting to show off his skills and ward off any competitors. It worked, of course, for he remained as the master thief for years and years to come, but times had changed since then, and Lupin was not about to give back a painting he stole fair and square just to be flashy. Or, rather, he  _ would,  _ he just couldn’t afford to at the moment.

Besides, in this day and age, stealing Ophelia was far less difficult than it had been in his grandfather’s early days, and it wouldn’t be as impressive if he were to swipe her. She wasn’t a difficult target, per se, and as a matter of fact, she was yet to  _ be _ difficult. The whole operation was somewhat of a breeze, what with how simple it had been to dismantle security and provide a distraction long enough to make it back to the designated escape point, which was currently only a few feet away. Really, Lupin hadn’t expected things to run this smoothly, but he most certainly wasn’t about to complain, feeling uncharacteristically anxious to get the entire caper over with as soon as physically possible. That being said, he wasn’t going to crow about the ease in which this heist was progressing either; if he managed to jinx their good luck somehow and drive them into yet _ another _ sticky situation, he would almost definitely end up gutted like a fish from the loving hands of his right and left-hand men. 

If successfully pulled off, Lupin and the others could very easily walk away as a millionaire each, and so long as there were no surprise visits from Fujiko, they would be well off for quite a long time. They would be able to afford a better safe house, better alcohol, better cigarettes, better medical supplied (God knows they needed a new first aid kit), better… everything, really. And then, from there, all they would need to do would be to live in the lap of luxury ‘til the next heist was needed, and by the time  _ that  _ happened, they would all be relaxed enough to stop grating each other’s nerves as they were tonight. 

It wasn’t as though any of them were on the brink of going for the other’s throats or anything… but they were all on the brink of going for the other’s throats. 

The inconveniences and annoying habits were small, really. Almost insignificant, so minuscule that you’d never think twice about any of them. About Jigen tapping his foot, about Goemon unsheathing and resheathing Zantetsuken, about Jigen reading the morning paper in the afternoons, about Goemon drumming his clean nails on any surface he could get his dainty little hands on. The habits were barely there, and as a matter of fact, Lupin found them to be rather endearing at first. He enjoyed the subtle background noises that came from his friends, enjoyed each of their quirks, and basked in the sounds of flipping pages and soft, absent whistling and the hum to a tune he hadn’t ever heard of before. 

But when you’re living in close quarters with two other people (that you really do love to death, no doubt about that) for several months on end, each and every one of those habits begin to sound like nails on a chalkboard. And Lupin could only take nails on a chalkboard for so long.

So, several petty arguments and long, awkward silences and stupid spats later, every single one of them decided that they all deserved a nice, long break-- and whether that be from each other or simply from living with a mere couple thousand to their name, it didn’t matter so long as they got one. 

Breaks, however, cost plenty of money, which they obviously did not have. Thus, the current heist was born, as was Lupin and Jigen’s current situation. 

“Wait… wait, wait, hold on I--” Jigen sputtered, and Lupin stopped moving the minute he began to talk, for he knew  _ exactly  _ what was coming, and his anxiety was beginning to drive high. 

“We are.” The thief began, half begging his partner to hold out at  _ least  _ ‘til they managed to bust out of the building, his breath bated, tone stern. “ _ So.  _ Close,” he finished through his ever-gritted teeth, brows furrowing over his widened eyes. From the other side of the canvas, he felt the painting begin to wobble. “Jigen,” he warned, voice edging on scolding as the weight of the canvas began to shift to and fro, causing him to shuffle awkwardly backward, shoes scuffing against the floor, the weight of the painting shifting clumsily between either man, teetering and tottering. With each slight movement, Lupin felt his heart drop to his stomach. 

“I promise you I’ll be fine,” Jigen responded, voice sounding somewhat stifled due to the dust and draft from the museum getting clogged up his sinuses. Lupin’s eye twitched. “just a tickle in my nose, is all,” the gunman continued, attempting to continue walking, the thief quickly following his lead as to not accidentally trip both of them up and become the demise of yet  _ another  _ heist. “ just keeping walking, alright? I’m all good, I swear to you, man, I just need t--” 

He never was quite able to finish that sentence.

With a sneeze more powerful than a category F4 tornado ripping itself out of poor Jigen’s nose, the heavy painting slipped from the grip of the pair of thieves, Lupin’s mouth instantly agape in a silent scream of petrified terror, watching in slow motion as the canvas fell onto the marble floor with what had to have been the loudest clatter in the history of the universe. 

Each corner bounced up against the solid ground, rattling ‘til at last it fell flat on its back, poor Ophelia staring dismally up at Lupin, who could only stare back with eyes rounder than saucers and a body so rigid he would’ve crumbled into a billion different pieces at the slightest breeze. 

The crash had only lasted for a mere split second, barely long enough to blink, barely long enough to notice. If this were anything other than a heist pulled by a few master thieves with high stakes, then it would’ve been laughable how silent the room had become immediately after the painting slipped and fell. 

Across from him, Jigen’s apologetic face grimaced at Lupin, who, though definitely not mad, per se, was very clearly irritated, round eyes boring searing holes into the space where the gunman’s eyes would’ve been if they weren’t somewhat obscured by his hat. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t lose his temper last month when he and Goemon got into a big argument that resulted in neither of them talking for a full week, but oh, boy, was it getting difficult to keep his cool about him. He could feel the heat as it rose to his cheeks, could feel the venom forming on his tongue, ready to just be spat out at his dearly beloved best friend, who was still standing there, motionless, like a deer caught in the headlights, legs tensed and poised to book it if he had to. 

“Jigen,” Lupin hissed, stiffened fingers gesturing wildly to Ophelia as, now looking more bored than dead, she lay on the floor, waiting to be picked up once more.

“I’m so sorry,” Jigen breathed. “I really didn’t mean to,” 

“I swear if we get caught because of your stupid butter fingers…”

“At least I wasn’t stupid enough to be seduced out of my money!” Jigen snapped. 

“Hey!” Lupin gasped, furrowing his brow as his face grew quite suddenly hot. He should’ve seen the blow coming. “Listen, Fujiko promised me--”

“Do not fucking tell me what she promised you,” the gunman said, tone low and stern and somewhat threatening. “listen, it’s not like I broke the painting or any…” 

His voice trailed dimly off and Lupin caught Jigen hastily glancing downward at their target, which, thankfully, had not been damaged save for a few scuffs along the side of the mahogany frame, though that could quite easily be repaired. 

“It’s not like I broke the painting or anything!” Jigen finally finished after confirming that he hadn’t, in fact, broken it. 

“Oh, whatever!” Lupin spat, though he was no longer upset with Jigen so much as he was frustrated with their current situation. Which _ was _ his fault. Most definitely. “Let’s just hurry the hell up and get it out of here, I swear I’m going to go ballistic if I can’t rent out a bigger apartment soon,” 

“Me too. I love you, and Goemon too obviously,” 

“Obviously,” 

“But I’m going to blow both of your brains out if I have to live with you any longer,” 

“Glad we’ve come to an agreement,” 

“Gesundheit, Jigen,” somebody said from the entrance of the exhibit just as the gunman was pausing his movements and sighing, a small frown present on his lips, seeming to contemplate what he was going to say next. 

“Hey man, we--oh, thanks, but you were a little late,” he said, smiling wearily and arching a brow as he began to bend down and pick up the edge of the painting once more, waiting for Lupin to do the same so that they could reposition it and get the operation up and running again. “anyway, I guess all I’m trying to say is I think we’re all on edge, and I--” 

Jigen cut himself short, the painting once more slipping from his fingers and falling onto the museum floor with a clatter. This time, however, Lupin understood why, as he had frozen at the exact same time, half bending down, mouth seeming as though it was going to begin to speak ‘till both of them had noticed the elephant in the room at the exact same time. 

The elephant chuckled. “Took you long enough,” he said, voice familiar and gruff as ever, the gentle clinking sound of handcuffs rattling about as he turned the shiny objects ‘round on his index finger. “I thought I’d have to wait out your entire heart-to-heart for you to notice me,” 

“P-Pops!” Lupin grinned sheepishly, suddenly standing bolt upright, wild eyes locking with the smirk that painted itself all across Inspector Zenigata’s face, smug satisfaction clearly written in every detail on his chiseled features. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Come to see the paintings?” He chuckled, and from behind him, he could hear the way Jigen was scrabbling at the canvas and frame alike, attempting to pick up the fairly heavy painting all by himself while Lupin and Zenigata decided to shoot the bull right then and there. 

“Sure have,” the inspector hummed. “though I gotta say, it looks like one of ‘em is missing from its exhibit,” 

“That so?” Lupin smiled, arching a sarcastic eyebrow.

“Mmmhm. Want to tell me where the famous Ophelia is? Or is that what poor Jigen is carrying without your help? Some friend you are, Lupin,” 

“Sweet of you to think of him, Pops. Don’t worry, I’ll be along to help him out shortly if you just--”

“Okay, well, be along to help me out  _ now  _ and stop flirting with Zenigata you jackass, this thing isn’t light!” Jigen spat, stumbling backward as he hoisted the whole thing up, painting close to knocking him over as Lupin yelped and scurried forward to try and relieve some of the weight, feeling heat pool in the apples of his cheeks for what seemed like no particular reason. 

The minute the casual banter between Lupin and Zenigata ceased, the inspector barrelled forward, screaming something that neither Lupin nor Jigen was able to hear, because they had already picked up a rhythm and were beginning to sprint into the next exhibit. 

They wouldn’t have time to make it to the escape point, for Zenigata was already halfway across the room by the time they finally managed to steady the painting in both of their arms and find their footing, so they would have to go with plan B. Which had never been planned in the first place, as all three of them were so tired of each other that if they had to spend another day planning for something other than plan A, they would claw each other’s eyes out. 

Lupin was suddenly wishing they had made a plan B. 

He stumbled with a sharp yelp, Jigen quickly following suit when the painting tipped more forward than they had expected it to, neither of them prepared and both of them now struggling to balance out the weight in their arms. If they let the whole damned thing topple  _ now,  _ they would never be able to pick up the slack in time to escape the inspector, who was  _ very  _ quickly gaining on them, yelling at them to stop, and that reinforcement would come along soon. 

Of course, though, neither the thief nor the gunman could be bothered to listen, for they had to squeeze through a doorway that led into one of the many ceramic exhibits, the pair of them yelling nonsense to one another that somehow, they understood perfectly as they fell into sync, Jigen scooting up towards the front of the painting as Lupin took the back and both of them lining up with the entryway to the next exhibit. 

“This has got to be the sloppiest escape I’ve ever seen from you two! Really, I’m almost disappointed!” Zenigata laughed from  _ far  _ too close behind them, and Lupin felt another rush of heat in his cheeks, which, for some ungodly reason, caused him to turn around to flash an embarrassed, angry look at the inspector. That, however, seemed to be quite a bad move on his part, for he immediately rammed his hip into a large, glass vase that had been preserved for hundreds of years in peak condition and was probably worth its weight in gold, crafted delicately by the Ottoman empire. 

Lupin couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the people who worked on such a masterpiece (despite how dead they were) when it crashed onto the floor and shattered into a million tiny little pieces. 

“Good thinking!” Jigen barked, the hint of a wild smile in his voice, and he made a sharp left turn into a different vase, this one long and thin and painted in glorious hues of blue and gold. Lupin watched in muted horror as it too fell onto the ground with a sharp crash, shards of glass exploding throughout the air. From behind them, Zenigata let out a quick squawk of either pain or anger and paused for a moment. 

Bad move on his part. 

Lupin and Jigen slid into the next exhibit, long legs pumping harder than ever-- or at least as hard as they could whilst carrying the multi-million dollar painting between them-- and Lupin swore that he could feel his heart beating out of his chest. From behind him, he could hear the crunching of glass as Zenigata awkwardly toed through the shattered vases, and allowed himself a small twinge of satisfaction knowing that the poor inspector would be shaken off in a matter of seconds by the time he and Jigen rounded the corner, as there was an emergency exit just a few feet ahead of the next exhibit, although pushing into it would cause the alarm to blare, the thief supposed it didn’t quite matter, for it was going to be a close escape anyway. 

“Jigen!” He called, stumbling only slightly against the overpolished floors of the Tate, a soft  _ woah!  _ forcing itself from his lips as he did so. “Jigen be prepared to get into the car and  _ drive,  _ alright? We’re taking--”

“The fire exit, I know!” Jigen hollered in response, a lightheartedness in his voice that told Lupin they were going to be fine. They just had to keep running, had to endure the sharp sting in their legs for only a few moments more, for soon, Goemon would arrive, and once he did? Oh, Zenigata didn’t stand a chance. He was no match for all three of them, even while two of those three had their hands full, and with him growing more and more behind due to the shattered glass, it was almost impossible to catch two people as slippery as Lupin and Jigen no matter the circumstances. 

The exit was growing closer and closer, there was almost no way in hell that anything could go wrong now, and the fire within Lupin’s gut was growing ‘til it was a raging inferno of excitement and the feeling of cutting corners. He was going to get out, both of them were, and then? 

Oh, they’d be  _ rich.  _

All that was left to do was make the home stretch, which was so close he could practically taste it, an involuntary grin curling around his lips whilst his brow furrowed, a shiver shooting up and down his spine from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. His grip on the painting tightened as he focused on the sound of his and Jigen’s shoes hitting the marble, it was a constant  _ one, two, one, two, one, two,  _ never falling out of synchronization, never wavering. They had found the rhythm that it would take to escape, and they were sticking to it, and wow, God, they were close now, just a few more steps and--

“Gotcha!” Zenigata bellowed as Lupin felt something wrap around his ankle, flat-out tripping him and stopping him right in his tracks as he fell, the painting launching itself forward (along with Jigen, who cried out as he tried and failed to recover). 

Lupin’s chest collided with the cold floor, managing to fully wind him, eyes blowing up wide as he felt sharp pain explode all across his body, starting at his ribcage and blooming outward. 

Although he had not yet regained his breath, he attempted to push himself up off of the floor, hands splaying out against the marble, but with the sudden feeling of a body on top of him, he fell back down, flopping uselessly against the ground, gasping for air as, at long last, he managed to breathe again. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed rather unceremoniously, wincing at the feeling of a hand far, far larger than his own pressing between his shoulder blades. “Be gentler next time, old man, I could’ve broken a rib! You’re out for blood tonight, aren’t you?” 

“Aww, come now, Lupin, you play rough all the time,” Zenigata chuckled, and the thief could just  _ feel  _ the sneer in his voice. He applied just a little more pressure to Lupin’s back. In front of him, the thief saw Jigen sitting cross-legged and dismally with his hands raised, brow twitching in irritation as about thirty or so police officers all pointed their pistols at him. 

“You know, you were pretty messy tonight,” Zenigata lamented, removing his hand from Lupin’s back to grab the thief’s wrists with a strangely surprising amount of caution, almost as though he really didn’t want to hurt Lupin at all, though it didn’t stop the thief’s shoulders from aching when his arms were pushed behind his back. Icy cold steel clicked around his skin, and he knew that, for now, he had lost. “I’m almost sad, really, I thought this’d be more fun,” 

“Oh, shut up, Pops,” Lupin spat, frowning. “if it had been ‘more fun,’ or whatever, you wouldn’t have gotten me. You’re just lucky,” 

“I suppose I am! Lucky, lucky me,” the inspector laughed, gently removing himself from Lupin’s lower back and standing up slowly, keeping his hand on the chain of Lupin’s cuffs as to make sure he didn’t try anything funny. There was no point anyway, not at least until Goemon arrived with Zantetsuken to save the day, but something told Lupin that even he had been apprehended. “you ready to spend the next fifty years in jail, ya weasel?” 

“Only fifty?” Lupin asked with a soft chuckle, though it soon turned to a surprised yelp when he felt himself get hoisted by the back of his lapel by only one of the inspector’s large hands, feet finding the ground the moment Zenigata eased him back down, though did not release his hold on Lupin. As a matter of fact, he stepped directly behind him, squeezing his shoulders in a way that, had it not been for the fact that the gesture was only to keep Lupin in place, would have almost felt friendly. 

“I’m feeling generous,” the thief felt more than saw the way Zenigata shrugged, and he rolled his eyes, huffing lightly in defeat. What a major setback. 

“You know, Pops, I’m just gonna break out of jail the minute you put me in. Why don’t you just release me now and save yourself the humiliation?” He asked, figuring that if he couldn’t escape now, he’d at least get to grate Zenigata’s nerves a little bit. 

“Oh, please, this time I’ve taken extra precaution. You won’t be able to escape for a long, long time, you know,” 

“At least fifty years, yeah?”

“Just about. Hey, you!” He barked, referring to one of the police officers who was slowly beginning to lower his gun as Jigen was cuffed. “Don’t drop your guard! If you underestimate either of these two bastards you’ll end up with empty hands,” 

“Sorry, sir,” the officer mumbled before complying, raising his gun once more and taking careful aim. 

“Aw, Pops,” Jigen grinned from where he was being held. “sweet of you to put so much faith in us,” 

“Oh, this ain’t faith. Don’t take what I said as a compliment,” 

“Too late,” 

Zenigata grumbled something that Lupin couldn’t hear and gently nudged at the thief’s legs with his knee, signaling that it was time to start moving. Lupin took a step forward, noting how the inspector hadn’t toed at the heels of his shoes the way he used to when his lopsided grin was still mean and the furrow in his brow was still one that held malicious intent. 

Then again, Lupin hadn’t slammed the back of his shoe into the inspector’s shin as he had when his own smirk held nothing but trouble, and the impish glint in his eye didn’t mind bloodshed. It was almost poetic how both of them had grown soft around the same time, and he was going to say something about it to Zenigata to elicit a fun reaction out of him but was unable to when a sudden explosion of smoke filled the entire room.

Coughing and panicked shouts rang out from around them, and Lupin felt the way Zenigata tightened his hold on him to prevent him from slipping away in the confusion. Of course, though, he was just as perplexed as the officer-- this was not planned. He didn’t even know if he  _ had  _ smoke bombs on him at the moment, though he supposed that perhaps Goemon could’ve finally swung in, but something like this wasn’t his style. 

When, from behind him, Zenigata went limp and slumped against Lupin, the thief knew that there was somebody different among them. 

He tensed, quickly adjusting his thumb to slip one hand out of his cuffs before turning around and wrapping his arms around the inspector’s warm waist, preventing him from falling to the floor too hard. His heart was beginning to race, mind doing much the same, whilst he lowered Zenigata down and softly lay him against the marble floor, eyes darting to and fro to attempt to spot anything other than hazy silhouettes amongst the smoke. 

“Jigen!” He cried out in the confusion, having to raise his voice over coughing and panicked shouts and a few gunshots that began to ring out, though they quickly stopped when the police officers all seemed to realize that, with the loss of vision, a stray bullet could very easily kill somebody. “Jigen, where are you!” 

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he shouted, wheeling around as fast as he could, only for relief to wash over him when he was met with the confused expression of the gunman. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” Jigen replied, slipping himself free of his own cuffs, using the same trick that Lupin had taught him a little while ago. He winced, probably still not quite used to dislocating his thumb for the purpose of escaping the small, metal objects, but managed to pull them off successfully and reposition both of his thumbs with a pair of sickening  _ crack _ s. 

“Since when did you have smoke bombs?” Lupin asked, frowning lightly. 

“I thought it was you,” 

“Could it have been Goemon?” 

“Could what have been me?” 

Both men let out startled cries as, seemingly from nowhere, Goemon appeared between them, rubbing at his wrists absently. He must’ve been caught as well and had only just broken free. 

“Goemon!” Jigen exclaimed, and Lupin nearly rolled his eyes when he caught the twitch of a smile tugging at either one of the corners of the samurai’s thin mouth. 

The thief huffed, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow as, all around them, police officers were shouting and groaning and coughing up a storm, confused and lost in the thick haze. “So I’m guessing you didn’t cause this?” He turned towards Goemon, frowning.

“I do not enjoy working with smoke bombs unless I have to, for they impair my vision and makes it more difficult to wield Zantetsuken,” 

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Lupin sighed, worrying at his lower lip, scanning the room for anything, or, rather, any _ one, _ out of place. “geez, so then who the hell--” 

He was cut short when the tell-tale scrape of a picture frame against marble flooring filled his ears, causing him to tense up immediately, mouth ever so slightly parted mid-sentence, rigid concern inching its way up every bit of his body. 

He never did quite consider the possibility that somebody else was here to take Ophelia. 

A wave of panic crashed throughout his body and, as fast as he could, he sprinted toward the last place he had seen the painting, both Jigen and Goemon exclaiming something he couldn’t quite hear before the sound of their shoes fell into rhythm behind him. As expected, he couldn’t see the forlorn eyes of his painting  _ anywhere,  _ and a sick feeling arose within his gut. If this was the second heist blown, then how the hell would they make up another plan with their saved money steadily running out? What were they going to do? Sure, they had been caught between bigger rocks and harder places before, but that didn’t mean this was a very desirable circumstance.

In front of him, he caught a quick glimpse of black, and then the sound of the emergency alarms began to wail all throughout the building, blaring and whining and keening as the lights flashed red on and off. The arrival of the alarms mixed with the slowly clearing haze from the smoke made Lupin’s head pound, a hot itchy feeling arising in his chest as he sprinted for the exit, knowing that whoever the hell had the painting couldn’t have gotten too far. 

Goemon had made it out before him, shoving his shoulder into the exit as hard as physically possible and bursting outside, not bothering to hold the door for Lupin and Jigen. Of course, though, they understood and picked up the pace, following close behind the samurai, leaving (a very unconscious) Zenigata and his crew to stumble around in the confusing haze.

“Where did they go?” Goemon murmured softly once the other two caught up to him, panting from the sudden excitement. Lupin began thinking of an answer, considering leaning on Goemon’s shoulder before remembering that he was already probably overwhelmed by the blaring sounds and piercing lights, so instead, he simply pressed his hands to his knees, catching his breath and glancing frantically to and fro, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and chin. 

From his peripheral, he stole a split-second glimpse of black, similar to the one he had seen in the museum, and without warning the others, took off in a hard sprint across the museum’s courtyard, which was where the exit had led. His legs were aching, he could feel his heartbeat all the way in the pads of his thumbs, but there was no way he was stopping now; he needed to make this heist a success to make up for the failure of last time. Not only would the humiliation be too much to bear, but if he couldn’t come up with  _ some  _ form of money soon, he and the others were screwed backward, forward, and upside-down. He forgot all about the pain in his chest from when Zenigata had tripped him, forgot how exhausted he was growing, forgot the anxious bile that was clawing its way up his throat. He  _ had  _ to capture whoever had stolen the painting from him and the others, there was no way that he was just going to let this freak off the hook simply because they managed to get their stupid, sticky fingers all across Ophelia. 

He burst into a small row of boxwood and wintercreeper bushes, their poky leaves pressing into his skin and making him hiss in frustration while he shoved through branches and stumbled over twigs. A loud crash and rustle behind him told him that both Jigen and Goemon were on his heel, tailing close behind, and for that, he was glad. That way, when they encountered the bastard who took their painting which they took from the museum, the fight would be much, much easier. And sure, maybe three against one was a little dirty, but Lupin couldn’t care less-- he had to leave and leave  _ soon,  _ otherwise, Zenigata might come to and wreak even more havoc than he already had. 

The sound of an engine revving to life caught his attention as he burst free of the bushes, and he stopped in his tracks when a sleek, glossy black Jaguar began to reverse out of the front of the building, what appeared to be a tall man with jet black hair and shoulders wider than life itself behind the steering wheel, his piercing, silver gaze shooting Lupin right through the gut the moment they made eye contact. He was going to get away. 

In the back of his car was a large, rectangular shape-- it must’ve been the painting-- and it was wedged between the passenger seat and back seat, sitting at a rather awkward angle that couldn’t have been good for the paint. Alongside it, Lupin caught sight of various weapons all piled up on the floorboards and seats. Tommy guns, shotguns, pistols, boxes upon boxes of ammo, and a large crate containing small, black oval shapes with tabs near the top. They bore a resemblance to a grenade, however, Lupin knew that those were the smoke bombs that completely decimated the whole operation. 

They were, however, also the smoke bombs that had saved him and the others from getting arrested. 

What the hell was this guy’s deal? Surely if he was as advanced of a thief as he looked, he would know who Lupin, Jigen, and Goemon were. Surely, if he was as advanced of a thief as he looked, he would know that they were the best in the biz, and couldn’t be beaten. Surely, if he was as advanced of a thief as he looked, he would understand that in order to stop Lupin and the others, he would have to kill them. Surely, if he was as advanced of a thief as he looked, he would have wanted Lupin and the others’ heads. 

And yet he hadn’t. In fact, he had gone so far as to  _ help.  _ Was it not him who had knocked Zenigata out cold? Was it not him that had left Lupin perfectly capable and standing? The hell was he playing at, anyway, pulling a stunt like that?

“LUPIN!” Jigen’s roaring voice abruptly yanked the thief out of his strange, uncomfortable trance. He tore his eyes away from the tail end of the Jaguar as it was already speeding down the street long enough to catch sight of the now-humbled little Fiat barreling toward him at a speed that surely wasn’t legal. Stepping back quickly, the thief waited as Jigen turned the car as sharply as he could, kicking up dirt and bits of gravel as he came to a halt. “We’ve got to go, man, come on!” He barked, leaning awkwardly across the dashboard and pawing at the door, fingers fumbling with the lock for a few painfully uncomfortable moments before finally pushing it open slightly.

Lupin almost had to shake his head to rattle his thoughts clear, and quickly, he nodded. “Right,” he said, pulling the door open the rest of the way and shoving into the passenger seat, not bothering to buckle up while he slid his right hand into his jacket, fingers brushing lightly against the cool surface of his trusty Walther. He drew it, absently checking the ammo that he had left--three bullets-- before glancing up at the road, back pressing hard into the passenger seat as Jigen put the pedal to the metal and sped off toward their mystery enemy as though the devil was riding his ass. 

From the back, Goemon was sitting cross-legged in the middle, his eyes closed, Zantetsuken clutched to his chest, upper half slowly swaying with the Fiat’s movements as it cut the sharpest turn Jigen had probably ever made before, the gunman switching from third to fourth gear, eyes determined and sharp and watching the car ahead of them like a hawk watches its prey. 

“Can you get close?” Lupin asked softly, hoping that he was heard over the roar of the engine and the quiet  _ whoosh  _ of the road passing beneath the tires, which were probably just a few minutes short of being stripped. 

“I think so. This jackass keeps turning, but we’re gaining speed on him,” 

“That’s good,” 

“Mmm. Can you shoot out one of his tires or something?” Jigen asked, momentarily taking his eyes off of the road to pass Lupin a quizzical glance beneath the brim of his hat. 

“I can try, but you know I’m not a good a shot as you,” the thief huffed lightly, slowly beginning to reach up so he could open up the sunroof, fingers hooking on a latch that, with a great amount of effort, he began to slide backward. 

“I know, that’s why I asked if you could,” the response said with a sly grin that crept onto Jigen’s mouth and made Lupin roll his eyes while he shoved the hatch open the rest of the way with a grunt and began to climb up toward it. 

The wind blasted through his hair the very moment he stepped up onto the dash and poked his head out-- seriously, how the hell could Jigen constantly do this?-- and he narrowed his eyes against the pressure on his face, trying to focus his suddenly misty gaze on the car ahead as it zipped gracefully along the road. 

He grimaced, knowing that if he missed, he could very possibly end up losing yet  _ another  _ big sum of money, and he knew the others would never forgive him for it. Currently, as he tried to maintain his footing and aim his Walther, he was driven by endless bouts of guilt and pent up frustration that ran heavily across his furrowed brow. He grit his teeth hard enough to hurt, lining up his gun with one of the back tires-- he was going to make the shot, and he wasn’t going to miss, and by God, he was going to get that stupid fucking painting back. 

Squinting one eye fully shut, his index finger danced along the trigger, squeezing it ever so slightly and waiting for the perfect opportunity to fire. A bead of sweat slid anxiously down the length of his jaw and was quickly swept up by the wind. Flashing lights passed by his head at the speed of sound, it felt like, road whirring by ten times faster, noises surrounding him and enveloping him ‘til there was practically a ringing in his ears. Slowly, he pressed down on the trigger, knowing that if he timed it right, there was no way he could miss. 

Come on, he thought, damn near grinding his teeth, brow so heavily furrowed that it created wrinkles in his forehead. Just a little bit closer… the Jaguar was slowing, not by a lot, but it was still slowing, and Jigen clearly had no intention of doing the same as he pushed onward. 

He was almost ready. The tire he had in mind-- back left-- was in clear sight, and his gun was poised with the utmost care, fully ready to shoot. All he had to do now was pull the trigger, and the painting would be back in the hands of its… well, its  _ un _ rightful owner. 

The Fiat swerved without so much of a warning, and the bullet intended for the Jaguar’s tire sped forward and instead hit a storefront, causing a wave of panic throughout passersby as they shrieked and hit the pavement. 

_ “Jigen!”  _ Lupin hollered, staring down into the Fiat with wild eyes as the gunman seemed to struggle heavily with controlling the car, easing out of fourth gear and wildly adjusting the steering wheel with one hand. From the back, Goemon was being tossed mercilessly to and fro, grunting and yelping each time he was thrown into a new position, having to hold his hands out on either side of him in order to stabilize himself. 

Lupin could do nothing but hold on as the Fiat swerved recklessly this way and that, tensing his legs and praying that his Walther didn’t fall or get flung from his hand. One particularly hard jolt sent the poor thief crashing directly into one of the corners of the sunroof, and he knew that a nice, fat bruise would blossom into his left side within the hour as he attempted to recover, Jigen haphazardly speeding around a corner and towards an open warehouse, which must’ve been where he was heading, as police sirens were slowly becoming more and more audible in the distance. 

The Jaguar was long gone by this point, having sped off into the milky night without a trace before the Lupin’s very eyes. The thief felt the frustration from earlier bubble up further and tug at his brain; this was not how tonight was supposed to go. This was  _ not  _ supposed to happen. What the fuck was going on now, anyway? Why was Jigen suddenly driving like he had never been behind the wheel before? 

Just as the thief was going to slip into the passenger seat once more and voice his disappointment, Jigen swerved  _ hard  _ on the steering wheel, shoving the thief against the sunroof once more (on his already injured side, no less), directing the Fiat into the warehouse before slamming on the brakes with so much force that poor Lupin was launched forward, a brief yell tearing itself from his lips.

For a moment, all fell silent. The Fiat’s engine was turned off, ceasing the rumbling that accompanied it, and even Zenigata’s police sirens seemed to be completely muted as they advanced toward the general area the chase had occurred. Lupin could do little more than stand in a state of shock and, admittedly, pain, as he stared at nothing in particular, slackjawed and misty-eyed from the harsh wind and amount of times he had been knocked around on the sunroof. 

Slowly, slowly, he began to slide downward, bewildered expression painted all across his face and probably matching his messy, windswept hair, which he glimpsed in the rearview mirror and saw how it stuck out every which way with reckless abandon. 

“Jigen,” he hissed, finally sinking into the passenger seat, slowly turning to face the gunman who wore a similar expression, hands still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, eyes wide, cigarette burning away in his lap, as it had most likely fallen from his opened mouth. “what. The  _ fuck.  _ Did you do.” 

There was a pause wherein the gunman remained silent, a shiver visibly passing through his stiffened shoulders as he slowly came to and reached down, plucking the cigarette from his lap between his index finger and thumb, ash falling carelessly down onto his legs. 

Finally, finally, he spoke in a somewhat cautious, shaken tone, voice slow, careful, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was going to say. 

“Fucker blew out our tires before we even had the chance to shoot.”


	2. swallowing pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite how aggravated everybody seems to be with her, when Fujiko offers her help, there's no way that Lupin and the others are in a position to reject it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter feels very goemon-centric and because of this i've decided that he's the star of the show. lupin and zenigata?? oh no i dont care anymore actually, this is goemon's fic

“You mean he j-- he just  _ took it?!”  _ Fujiko’s shrill laughter pierced through the receiver of the phone, and, solemnly, Lupin slumped further in the ratty leather chair he was sitting on and placed said phone on the windowsill, letting the cat burglar’s snorts and chuckles carry through with the fragrant springtime breeze. Sourly, from the floor, legs crossed and brow furrowed, Goemon stared disdainfully at the bright red landline phone’s receiver, fingers twitching near Zantetsuken almost as though he was going to snap at any minute and slice clean through the annoyingly curled cord, which was also colored a bright, candy-apple red. Honestly, at this point, Lupin wouldn’t blame him. 

Fujiko hemmed and hawed and didn’t seem like she was ever going to stop, having to take moments of silence where she just  _ breathed  _ a little bit lest she suffocate right then and there during the call. Jigen, who had been lounging on the couch, grumbled something that Lupin couldn’t hear (and wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear) before sliding his hat down his face, covering his eyes and nose but leaving his grimacing mouth visible for all the world to gaze upon. 

Under normal circumstances, this would’ve been funny; Lupin adored watching the way Fujiko just dug under Jigen’s skin, and it seemed that Goemon did as well judging by his usual reaction. However, these were not normal circumstances, and Lupin, tired and fed-up and not in the mood to be laughed at, was finally beginning to understand how mean-spirited Fujiko could be when she wanted to. 

Finally, the laughing died down into softer giggles, ones that told Lupin it’d be safe to pick up the receiver again without having his eardrum blasted clean off, and so, sinking further down ‘till his chin touched his chest, he reached out. With his eyes half-lidded and utterly exhausted, he pawed slowly at the windowsill in search of the phone.

“I mean, come on, Lupin, you’re getting sloppy,” she snorted, her tinny voice lighter than air and as joyful as they come. She was absolutely over the moon and back again about the Lupin gang’s most recent failure, and it was obvious she was going to crow about it for a very, very long time.

At long last, the unamused thief found the receiver and pulled it off of the sill, slowly bringing it down and pressing it to his ear, rolling his eyes with a soft huff. 

“That’s what Pops said, too,” he murmured beneath his breath, which felt far too hot and heavy due to the humidity outside. He figured that such a quiet comment would go unnoticed by Fujiko, as she was still coming down from her laughter high. Of course, though, he figured wrong.

“The old man was there?”

Bad move. “Yes? He’s always there, what do you expect? He actually managed to get us, though, which was surprising,” 

_ “He managed to catch you?!”  _

And, here we go again. 

Lupin fluttered his eyes closed, suppressing a long, drawn-out groan as Fujiko erupted into yet another cacophony of laughter, joyous and only a few snorts away from being a flat-out cackle and beginning to get just a little bit annoying. It mixed with the quiet sounds of traffic down below, the idle hum of pedestrians and street vendors adding to the ambiance of the lazy Tuesday morning as warm, spring sunshine crept into the temporary apartment and danced across Lupin’s exhausted features. 

The three had finally trudged home after the night the Fiat’s tires blew out-- oh, Fujiko was going to have a ball with that one-- having to drive home on the rickety busted ones ‘til they arrived back and were able to change them, which would cost just about the rest of the money they had saved up. 

No argument erupted that night, as they all felt far too disappointed in themselves to point the blame at anybody else. This operation hadn’t been any one individual’s fault, and none of them could’ve seen it coming no matter how hard they squinted at it. Instead, they all exchanged silent sympathies through quirked eyebrows and twitchy frowns and inspected the damage done to the Fiat together.

It hadn’t been too heavy, and save for the obviously blown-out tires, the only thing wrong was a smattering of thin, white scratches along the side where a few bullets must’ve grazed the car and tore up the paint job a little. Which, in retrospect, seemed all too strange; nobody in the Fiat had seen the mysterious thief fire a gun of any sort, so how the hell had he not only managed to land a few shots on the car but also use enough bullets to miss as well? Unless the guy’s Jaguar had been rigged with a gun, there was really no way that he would’ve had time to draw.

Of course, he could’ve just been a quick shot, but for that to be true, then he must be faster than even Jigen (or at least equally as fast). That, though, was impossible, so the three men decided not to mention it even though they had all been thinking it, and instead opted to stick with the fact that it was dark and they were both going way over the speed limit, and there was a lot of confusion.

They had made their way back up to that stupid, cheap room that they would soon be evicted from feeling like failures, none of them speaking as Jigen and Goemon went to the two bedrooms in the apartment and Lupin found himself sleeping on the hard cushions of the uncomfortable, ugly orange sofa. 

Though the night had been somewhat peaceful whilst all three were asleep in their respective areas, morning came along and brought highly unwanted tension with the rising of the early sun. Subtle, at first, just a tiny bit of frustration caused by last night’s failure, but soon turning into Lupin and Jigen arguing over something small and trivial that, by this point, Lupin couldn’t even remember. All he had known was that it felt nice to yell at somebody, and he was damn sure that Jigen felt the same. 

Goemon was irritated, too, but he showed it in much more different ways, ones that didn’t involve raising his voice-- or, for that matter, even speaking at all. He had remained silent all morning long, opting to sit quietly and stoically, frowning lightly as he seemed to be meditating. Truth be told, though, Lupin knew better; he was most likely still overwhelmed from all of the negativity that had been going on, never one to participate or even stick around for any disagreements that arose between the small gaggle of thieves. Even still, the thief could simply  _ feel  _ how upset he was each time he caught a glimpse of his expressionless face and was glad that Zantetsuken hadn’t left its sheath since the night before. 

Now, though, in the late morning as the sun was climbing higher and higher into the sky, the blue light of the wee hours being chased away by its buttery, warm rays, the trio was nothing more than tired. The anger from accidentally waking up far too early and having to remember their situation had melted away and was quickly replaced with staggering fatigue, the kind that makes your bones feel like they’ve been filled with concrete and your eyelids are so heavy you aren’t sure whether they’re open or closed. They had all opted to slump in the living room, which was really just a tiny, box of an area with rotting wooden floorboards and mildewed walls directly connected to the little kitchen, and was only able to hold a couch and a chair for seating due to its size.

It was at that time that the phone had rung, and as none of them wanted to hear the trilling of its stupid tone over and over ‘til the call simply stopped, Lupin decided to reach forward against his better judgment and pick up, eyelids at half-mast and mouth feeling dry and sticky. However, in doing such, he accidentally opened up Pandora’s box in the form of his favorite, feisty redhead, earning him both a mental punch in the gut and, what he soon realized was going to be a  _ real  _ punch in the gut, for Jigen’s eyes darted to him the very millisecond he heard the cat burglar’s voice, sharp as daggers and more dangerous than the loaded Magnum he kept on his person at all times. 

“Lupin,” Fujiko whimpered, clearly using every ounce of her strength to simply hold it together. “ _ darling,”  _ she continued with a borderline wheeze pinching at her voice. “surely you’re just playing with me, right? There’s no way something like that would happen-- tell me you’re joking, please,” 

The thief sighed, though it sounded more like a groan when it passed his dehydrated lips. “No, no, it’s the real deal,” he grumbled, and oh, he could just  _ feel  _ the way Jigen was rolling his eyes underneath that old hat of his. “we just ran into some ah--  _ difficulties,  _ I guess, nothing that’s never happened before,” 

“This is probably your worst failure yet. Or maybe funniest,” Fujiko snickered, voice partially cutting out due to the shit reception at the apartment. “did you at least manage to grab some easy cash on your bumbling way out?”

“No? We were taking a painting, not jewelry, so we didn’t have time to take anything else,” 

“You’re so stupid!” 

“Gee thanks, Fujicakes, that really makes me feel  _ so  _ much better,” Lupin shifted in his chair, turning around onto his side so that his cheek was smooshed up against the sticky, old leather, somewhat distorting his face and tugging uncomfortably at his skin. He pushed his legs up toward his chest, crossing his free arm over his stomach in an almost fetal position, Goemon eyeing him quizzically as he did so. However, the samurai quickly looked away when Lupin shot him a cold glare. 

Fujiko chuckled, though it seemed different than the other bouts of laughter that had plagued her, seemed a little softer, quieter, kinder. “How’s everybody else? Put me on speakerphone,” 

“No offense, but I don’t think they want to hear from you,” 

“Bullshit, they love me. Now put me on speakerphone or I’ll just yell to get my point across,” 

Upon Fujiko’s threat, Lupin really had no other choice but to lean forward, bending at the most uncomfortable angle imaginable and stretching his hand out toward the coffee table, shifting a single eye downward to cast the dock of the phone an irritated glance despite the fact that it wasn’t  _ its  _ fault that Fujiko had decided to call. Only Lupin’s for being such a damned idiot. 

He found the speaker option, pressing lightly onto it with his middle finger before allowing the phone in his hands to slip gently down onto the coffee table, where it thunked against its dock and clattered awkwardly to the wooden surface in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable for poor Fujiko’s ears. 

The thief returned to his previous position, leather creaking beneath his shifting weight and sticking uncomfortably to his tacky skin, making him grunt lightly in frustration while he kicked his legs out and away from his chest, turning his body fully ‘til he was leaning back against the armrest of the char. Arms crossed over his chest in an almost childlike sense of discomfort, legs flung haphazardly over the armrest opposite to him, he scowled down at the phone as Fujiko began to speak. 

“Hi, boys,” she cooed playfully.

“Hi, Fujiko,” all three of them grumbled in reply, despite Lupin already being the one to answer her previously, Jigen hating her very guts at this moment, and Goemon not speaking all morning long. It was a habit more than anything else, one that all of them had picked up over the years.

“Sticky situation you’ve landed yourself in, huh?” She hummed, sounding wildly more amicable than she had earlier. 

“Shut up,” Jigen barked from the couch, but she only laughed. 

“I already made fun of you guys, don’t worry, that’s not why I wanted to talk to all of you. Did anything else happen other than your complete failure on the simplest heist in the world?” She asked, a smile behind her words that every person in the room could see even though Fujiko wasn’t actually there with him. 

Lupin was going to open his mouth and tell her that no, everything was fine when, to everybody’s surprise, Goemon talked first. 

“The man who stole the painting from us managed to shoot some of the tires on the Fiat,” he said calmly, almost dully as he leaned further back against the couch Jigen was resting on. 

_ “Goemon,”  _ Jigen hissed, raising his hat ever so slightly and glaring at the samurai, who merely shrugged from where he sat, sliding his eyes closed once more and slipping his hands into the sleeves of his hakama, Zantetsuken falling closer to his chest as a result, thumping lightly against his shoulder. 

“Seriously? Lupin, usually you’re a better driver than to let some punk blow out the Fiat’s tires. I mean come on, you treat that stupid car better than us,” Fujiko huffed lightly from the phone, and Lupin bristled, cheeks glowing pink. 

“Hush!” He yipped, ignoring Fujiko’s cheeky snigger. “I wasn’t even the one driving, it was Jigen.  _ I  _ was tasked with shooting at the bastard’s tires. But that… didn’t quite work out,” his voice dropped from an accusatory bark to that of almost a murmur. If she had a shred less of self-control, it sounded as though Fujiko were going to dissolve into mocking laughter again, but she merely suppressed whatever giggles were bubbling to the surface of her voice as she spoke. 

“So  _ you  _ shot and  _ Jigen  _ drove?” She asked. When nobody answered her, she sighed, exasperated and light-hearted all at once. “You’re all such idiots, you know that? What a mess you’ve gotten yourselves into,” There was a slight pause, and then “you still living at that shithole apartment in Westminster?” 

“Mmmhm,” Lupin hummed softly, rolling his eyes. “of course, though, we  _ wouldn’t  _ be living in a shithole if it weren’t for you, Fuj,” he grumped, and Fujiko made a defensive sound. 

“Please! The only one to blame for that is you for being so stupid,”

“She’s got a point,” Jigen said gruffly from his spot on the couch, and Goemon agreed, nodding his head softly, a few thin strands of hair falling over his forehead. 

“Hey! Whose side are you guys on, anyway?” Lupin snapped, and before any further argument could occur, Fujiko continued. 

“I’ll be over soon, I’m just a few hours away. I thought I’d make my way over to you just in case you made some good money but only thought to call you and ask how the heist actually went once I actually  _ made  _ it to Britain. Now, though, I’m pretty sure you goons need my help,” her voice was casual, conversational, and Lupin could imagine her looking idly at her painted nails, and pouting out her red-stained lips as she spoke, maybe curling an absent finger around the cord on the payphone. 

“You’re coming  _ here?!”  _ Jigen suddenly bolted upright from his seat, hat flying off of his head and landing with a quiet  _ pomf  _ on the ground, shaggy, black hairs sticking out every which way as he made sharp, wild eye contact with Lupin. He was moments away from springing out of his seat and clobbering the poor thief, who could only smile sheepishly at him. 

“Yeah, sure. I should help you out, shouldn’t I? Besides, I might’ve heard about this crook Lupin told me about before, or at least know where we can find out about him. He sounds familiar,” 

“We don’t want your charity!” Jigen spat, swinging his cricket-long legs off of the couch and shoving his hands deep into his pockets, scowling as he lumbered forward, towering about the phone and sneering at it like it owed him money. “You’re the whole reason we had to try and take the stupid painting in the first place,” 

“Don’t call Ophelia stupid, Jigen dear, she’s probably my favorite piece of art out there,”

“If you and Lupin keep referring to that damned canvas as if it were a real, living woman, I am going to lose my mind,” 

“You just don’t understand art,” 

“Neither do you!” 

“I know more about it than  _ you  _ do, at least,” Fujiko snapped. 

“Oh, like what. The  _ price?  _ Please, you’re just trying to be cute for Lupin so that he gives you whatever you want again,” Jigen snarled. 

“Hey!” Lupin frowned from where he sat. The gunman tossed him what could’ve been an apologetic glance. 

“Listen, do you want my help or don’t you?” Fujiko asked, sounding more and more irritated by the moment. 

Jigen opened his mouth, very obviously about to tell her where she could stick the help she was offering when a hand fell atop his shoulder. He paused mid-scold, and frowned lightly, looking back at Goemon, who was clearly not about to endure another screaming match. 

“We do want your help,” he deadpanned, nodding slightly, and Jigen looked like he could’ve exploded what with how he wheeled around and glared at the samurai with a stare that could’ve curdled milk. “we do not have much money at the moment, and repairing the car will cost a lot. Granted, our lack of cash  _ is  _ your fault, and I am fairly upset with you for it, but if you are willing to help, I will not allow stubborn pride to cause me to reject your offer,” 

There was a momentary silence, the whole room growing quiet, Lupin blinking with widened eyes and Jigen scowling with eyes ten times wider and a furrowed brow. However, his incredulous expression went ignored by the samurai, who continued to press his palm into the gunman’s shoulder even if he didn’t need to at this point. 

Finally, Fujiko said something, though her voice was quieter than it had been earlier. “You mad at me, Goe?” She asked, sounding oddly guilty and cautious in her words. 

“Please do not call me that,” 

“Aww, I’m sorry Goemon, Jigne calls you that all the time! I just figured it sounded cute,” Fujiko pouted from the other line. “anyway, I’ll be over soon with a mechanic so that your dumb car can get its tires replaced. All expenses paid for, and no tricks up my sleeve this time! I promise,” 

“Not like we have anything you can take from us this time around,” Lupin grumbled quietly from his seat, scooching over just a tad so that Jigen could cross behind Goemon and perch himself on the armrest that Lupin’s neck was pushed up against. Softly, Jigen agreed with him, huffing and nodding his head, which almost looked naked without his token hat. 

“I heard that,” Fujiko murmured. 

“Good!” Lupin replied, feeling a little less irritated than earlier now that Goemon had somewhat diffused the situation, though the humiliation of accepting her help was still a wound that he would need to lick in his own time. He hated having to suck these kinds of things up. 

The phone call didn’t last much longer after there was nothing left to argue about-- or, at least nothing that they could get away with arguing so long as Goemon was around to practically monitor them like some sort of feudal babysitter. Fujiko simply asked them how they were doing, whether or not they knew the whereabouts of the beloved Zenigata and his team, if they were planning on getting the painting back or not, what they would be eating for dinner, and any other idle chatter that would allow her to wait out the morning traffic she was having to deal with. The tension in the room had faded slowly away, only leaving all three men to sit around the phone in lazy, posture-killing positions and speak as though they were merely having a regular conversation over morning coffee-- which dear, sweet Fujicakes actually promised she would bring along with her. 

When, at last, the cat burglar claimed that there was finally “enough damn room on the road to call a cab,” she bid her farewells, and Lupin and Goemon bid her theirs while Jigen grunted a soft sound of acknowledgment, which was better than nothing and  _ much  _ better than whatever he would’ve said had he still been actively mad at her. The phone hung up with a quiet, comfortable  _ click  _ on her end, and Lupin stared momentarily at the receiver as it lay askew atop the coffee table and swathed in mid-morning light before reaching out, fingers creeping apart and casting soft, barely-there shadows across its glossy red surface, and placing the phone back in its dock, cord bundling up in a messy pile right beside it. 

“So,” he began, sniffing lightly, frowning idly. 

“So,” Jigen answered, scooting himself further back along the armrest ‘til his hip was pressed up to the back of Lupin’s head and his back was leaning on the uncomfortable leather chair. As he moved, the material squeaked beneath him, just as irritating as poorly-made faux leather always was. 

“So,” Goemon hummed from where he sat catty-corner to the chair, Zantetsuken discarded politely beside him as he pushed his hair out of his face for what felt like the trillionth time since the phone had rung. 

“I guess now all that’s left for us to do is wait,” Lupin frowned, sinking further back into the chair, Jigen absently balling his hand into a fist and knocking gently against the side of the thief’s head, no particular reason behind the action other than familiarity. “she said she’s only a few hours away, and it’s still early, so maybe we can get this all wrapped up and dealt with by the time afternoon rolls around,” 

“She asked us what we were cooking for dinner. Is she staying with us?” Jigen asked, the frown so obvious in his voice that Lupin didn’t even have to spare him a single glance to know it was there and very genuine. “I can’t stand to stay with that woman for more than a few hours,” 

“Well sit down, then, because I doubt she’ll be leaving anytime soon,” Lupin hummed. “other than the dinner thing, she said she might know who the guy who stole our painting was, which means she might find him for us,” 

“Uh, yeah, but at what price? By the time she’s satisfied with the share we offer her, we’ll be in the same situation until the next heist,” 

“We can just swindle her,”

“See, Lupin, man, you  _ say  _ that…” Jigen grumbled, and Lupin rolled his eyes in exasperation, though he knew it was true. He had tried time and time again to trick Fujiko out of her money, but she was either too clever or he was too lecherous to see what was happening, and he always ended up with less than nothing. 

The thief sighed, absently kicking his feet to and fro from where they dangled over the edge of the other armrest, the frown on his lips dull and sleepy. “Maybe she’ll be feeling generous,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, she’s already got a lot of money, and as far as I can tell, she hasn’t spent it all yet. And it isn’t like she’s never been helpful just for the hell of it in the past,” 

“Name  _ one  _ time, Lupin.  _ One  _ time that she has helped us without asking for something in return,” 

“Oh, okay, if you want to be that way. What about the time she--” Lupin paused, furrowing his brow. “--or, no, actually, but how about that one time… um… well, maybe-- actually yes, okay, do you remember when sh--” he cut himself off, grimacing. “yeah, okay, fine, you win,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, almost pouting his lower lip out, and Jigen scoffed. 

“That woman is nothing but trouble and you damn well know it,” 

“Even still,” Goemon piped up. “her offer may still prove to be beneficial for us,” 

From the armrest, Jigen snorted and stuck his leg out as far as he could, a lopsided grin curling onto his mouth, and when Lupin tilted his head to look up at the gunman, he could see the way his gaze softened. Gently, he tapped Goemon’s shoulder with his foot, a mere nudge, and the samurai rolled his eyes, though there was affection hidden within the gesture. “Someone’s awful defensive about this, hm? Don’t tell me you  _ like  _ Fujiko,” 

“Of course I like her,” Goemon answered matter of factly, and Lupin had to clap a hand over his mouth to refrain from giggling as Jigen’s expression of adoration shifted to one of confusion. Or maybe it was disgust. “as her friend, I am willing to listen to her, even when I…” he paused, seeming to chew on his words for a moment, before speaking once more. “...hate her a little bit. Not a lot,” he added at the end, the corners of his mouth twitching. “but just a little bit,” 

And just like that, Jigen laughed, leaning back into the chair, his head rolling lazily back as a picture of joy replaced his crabby expression from earlier. “Glad to hear she’s gettin’ on your last nerve too, Goe,” he hummed, hand pawing absently at his pants pocket, more likely than not in search of his cigarettes. 

“Yes, well…” the samurai shrugged, looking down with a poorly-hidden grin and, once again pushing his hair away from his face as it had since fallen in thin strands over his eyes and cheek. 

“You’re both so hard on Fujiko,” Lupin sighed, knocking his head trivially against Jigen’s hip, and almost immediately regretting the action, as he was met with sharp bone. His mood had shifted quite drastically from earlier, and he was feeling much lighter than he had after the strange tension had fully dissipated, slowly beginning to turn in what felt like an average day, one that could be salvageable, one that wasn’t ruined by the awful circumstances. “she’s such an angel! I’m sure that she’s only helping out of the kindness of her own heart!”

“Fujiko, you’re the devil,” 

The woman in question arched a thick, meticulously shaped brow, smiling coyly behind her champagne flute, which she soon tipped back and sipped daintily from. Lupin stared at her, incredulous and frowning, leaning forward on the ugly little couch with a furrowed brow and half a glass of expensive, smooth as silk champagne in his left hand. “I can’t let you in on what we make from the painting when we get it back! We don’t even know  _ if  _ we’ll get it back, and besides, you didn’t even help us!” 

“What am I doing  _ right now,”  _ Fujiko huffed, jabbing a sharp, acrylic nail over toward the window. Outside, as the sun was slowly setting over Westminster, casting long, creeping shadows that stretched along everything in the apartment, two repairmen were currently working to change the Fiat’s tires. They had been at it for about half an hour and, if all went well, would most likely be wrapping it up soon based on how quickly they worked.

Fujiko had arrived just forty minutes earlier, bursting into the apartment with a grin and a cropped fur coat, white and probably far too thick for the spring evening and hugging her arms and waist in a way that made her look positively divine. A short, baby blue pencil skirt hugged her thighs, and ivory heels made her stand at least three inches taller than Lupin was. Held in her finely-manicured hands, which were dripping in diamonds and rubies in the form of lavish rings and thin, elegant bracelets, she held two bags, one containing Italian takeout from a restaurant she had been to before, and the other holding a few bottles of overpriced champagne. 

She had apologized hastily for her delay, explaining that the taxi driver had hit a rough traffic patch that nearly took two full hours to get through, and then that she found difficulties in bribing the mechanic shop to let her borrow two of its workers for a little bit for a home call. All in all, she described her trip as “absolutely perilous and, might I add, awfully uncomfortable on my feet what with these stupid damned heels, Lupin, so I’m sorry about the delay but I’m sure you can understand just how difficult it can be!” before offering a kiss on each of the thief’s cheeks, which he gladly accepted as Jigen’s eyes rolled themselves clean out of their sockets while he watched from the window, leaning against its frame and smoking his second Marlboro. 

Immediately after coming in and nodding politely at the apartment’s inhabitants, the two mechanics had gone outside to begin their repairs on the Fiat, Fujiko explaining that she had already paid them in full before they even agreed to the offer (that was what bribed them to come in the first place) and hoping out loud that they wouldn’t just do a hack job and leave. That statement alone nearly caused poor Jigen to lose his damn mind, which Fujiko found amusing and tossed him a mean grin, which he returned with a sneer even meaner. 

All in all, though, after Goemon had insisted that he check up on the men outside a few times, it seemed as though they were doing their job and doing it well, and Lupin felt confident that he wouldn’t have  _ too  _ much to worry about now that Fujik was actually here and helping.

Of course, though, good things never last, and that confidence dropped instantly the moment Fujiko asked for a share of the money they would allegedly get from the painting that had been swiped from beneath their very noses. 

“Okay, yes, you’re helping us… with our  _ tire problems.  _ You haven’t actually done anything for the heist, you realize that right?” 

“Without your stupid car, you wouldn’t be going anywhere,” Fujiko hummed, sitting elegantly on the floor with her legs carefully folded to the side, back leaning against the coffee table, elbows resting on its surface in a casually classy way, probably knowing damn well that so long as she maintained her stature, she would get what she came for. 

Lupin, however, was doing his best to ignore her foxy charm and instead focusing on the fact that here she was, trying to swindle them despite saying that she merely wanted to lend a hand earlier on the phone. 

“You’re such an ass, Fujiko,” Jigen harumphed from where he was sitting on the other end of the couch, leaning against the corner of it and crossing his ankle of his knee as his left arm slung itself casually over the top of the couch, most likely to hide the fact that it was  _ actually  _ gently resting on Goemon’s shoulders, who was sitting next to him with posture that seemed to be less painful on the spine. He wore a careful frown, one that seemed much softer than Jigen’s rough glare, but it was a look of disapproval all the same. “we don’t even know if we’ll get the painting back at all and you want a share of its earnings? For all we know, that thing is halfway across the world at this point, it’ll be impossible to track down one man that we’ve never seen before,” 

Goemon nodded thoughtfully. “I can’t help but agree with Jigen that it would be unfair of you to ask us for money we don’t have,” 

“Come on, don’t think of it like that!” Fujiko grinned from the floor, reaching back with a relaxed hand in search of the garlic bread that had come with her order of tortellini. “I thought I had told you earlier that I might know the guy you’re all talking about,” 

_ “Might  _ is the keyword here, Fujicakes,” Lupin whimpered, resting his elbows on his knees, sighing. “I just told you what I thought he looked like, the guy is probably totally different from my description,” 

“I don’t think so,” the cat burglar shook her head. “because I’ve been duped by the same bastard,” she grinned, taking a bite of her bread for emphasis. 

“Seriously?” Lupin asked, sudden intrigue chasing away any and all feelings of doubt that had managed to stick to him. He knew that Fujiko was often tricked by men who promised to give her shares of their wealth, but he had no clue that she had ever actually been fooled during a caper. It wasn’t like her-- her crafty nature kept her practically unnoticed, and she hadn’t ever been a target for anything similar before. 

Fujiko nodded, putting the garlic bread down onto the table rather than the plate it was supposed to go on and taking a quick sip of her champagne to wash it down, the smile on her face bringing out her dimples clearly. “It happened a few months back, but I didn’t want to say anything over the phone because I knew that Jigen would be an ass about it,” 

“I’m still going to,” the gunman said from the couch, and she shrugged. 

“I know, but at least now you have alcohol in your system. Anyway, it wasn’t a particularly  _ big  _ job, really, just a few gemstones that I found awful, awful pretty in the display cases of Tiffany’s,”

“Of course you did,

Fujiko scowled at Jigen, who only raised his hands defensively, gesturing for her to keep going. “Hush,” she snapped, though the heat in her tone was very obviously playful. “anyway, to make a long story short, as I was making my escape with my spoils, some strange man drove up in a black car-- I couldn’t see what type it was, mind you-- and swerved into me. He almost hit me, too, only I managed to jump out of the way,” as she spoke, she used her hands to help illustrate the story she was painting out, fingers fluttering and palms waving in what was probably the world’s cheapest shadow puppet show at the right angle. “the guy got out and managed to shoot. He was a quick draw, I’ll give him that, but his aim was  _ terrible--  _ he managed to graze my side just barely but that’s it,” she frowned, gesturing to her left hip, which she patted as Lupin and Goemon offered her sympathetic glances and Jigen sniffed, unamused. “in my surprise, of course, I lost my jewels and a bit of blood, and the dickhead made off with all my hard work just as the cops were coming onto the scene. Matter of fact, I was almost captured, and if it hadn’t been for my fantastic getaway plan, I would never have made it out,”

“What was your fantastic getaway plan?” Lupin asked, unable to help himself from being curious as he blinked at her, fully invested in the story at this point. 

“Oh. Sewer system,” 

“You rat,” Jigen snorted. 

“Sure felt like one,” she grimaced, making a face of disgust as she seemed to recall the event in full detail. 

“Anyway,” she continued, taking another quick swig of her champagne. “I did some research on the little freak by sneaking into the police station and convincing Pops to show me some files,” 

“Convincing how?” Lupin said before he could stop himself.

Fujiko only sighed, shaking her head. “Well I disguised myself, you know, and then told him about the crook’s general appearance and where he was. When Zenigata said that he knew where the files on that particular heist were kept, I tried to leave, but my disguise was cheap and shitty so ah-- my wig fell off,” she sighed, shaking her head slowly. “the dolt recognized me by that tattoo I have on my neck-- he could see it because my hair was in a net, as it would be-- and by God, he’s  _ fast  _ with those stupid cuffs. So, to get out of that situation I… kind of knocked him around a little bit,” 

Jigen held back a snort of laughter, clapping one hand over his mouth. “So you just beat him up? Are you serious?”

Defensively, Fujiko threw her hands up in the air. “I feel bad about it, I do, but he wouldn’t shut up about whether or not I knew where you were, Lupin, so I just. I quieted him down by uh. Well. Almost breaking his poor nose,” 

At that, Lupin tossed himself against the couch, a bark of laughter accompanying the grin on his face. “You’re so mean!” He giggled, ignoring the fact that he wanted to ask whether or not Zenigata was okay afterward. 

“I know, I know! But I knocked him out and stole his keys, and then had the most boring six hours of my entire  _ life  _ in some dingy, dusty room full of file cabinets. I really didn’t know what I was doing, but by God, I was lucky that it was only six,” 

Goemon, who was often placed on file duty when it came to sniffing out particular people, nodded in sympathy, almost looking as if he were tired from merely  _ thinking  _ about it.

“I managed to find some intel on the guy. He hasn’t been named-- even the police are kind of foggy on his identity-- but there  _ was  _ something that said he could have an alias as a bartender,” 

At the mention of such a possibility, all three of the men on the couch sat bolt upright, attention immediately grasped in Fujiko’s perfect clutches. She knew it, too, for she smirked into her champagne flute, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. 

“I don’t suppose you could just…  _ tell  _ us about this alias, could you?” Lupin asked, almost pleaded, feeling his stomach flip. If this were the case, then there was a very real possibility of getting the painting back-- which, at this point, wasn’t for money, but pride instead (though the money would be a very,  _ very  _ nice addition to the pride). 

“Sorry, baby, but you know information costs a little more than inviting me over to your God-awful apartment and making me do some work for you,” Fujiko sniffed, shrugging as she reached back to the table to scoop her garlic bread up once more, looking innocently off to the side as though she were trying to avoid getting burned by Jigen’s disapproving gaze. 

“You didn’t give us  _ that  _ much help,” Lupin grumbled, his good mood deflating as quickly as it had come, and he shrank back into the couch. “we don’t even know where his alleged alias  _ works,  _ there are billions of bars in the world, Fuj, so how the hell would we even find him?” 

Fujiko sniffed, biting into her bread with the hint of a smirk dancing along her stained lips, arching a clever eyebrow as her free hand swirled the champagne in the flute, bits of it flying out of the glass in shimmering droplets that sparkled gold in the dim lighting. “Oh, well,  _ there’s  _ the information you’ll need to pay for,” she cooed, and everybody in the room, including and  _ especially  _ her, knew that she had won. “because I know which bar he’s supposed to work at, and I know a quick way we can get there. Hell, I’ll even drive you there so long as I get in on the operation,” 

“Haven’t you already taken enough money from us?” Jigen growled, his foot rhythmically bouncing up and down on his knee. “I mean, it’s not like you need it or anything. You could just be a good person for once,” 

Fujiko shook her head softly, strands of thick, red hair delicately flowing to and fro, getting caught up in the gloss that clung to her red lips and pushing themselves up against her supple cheeks. “I didn’t get on the world’s most-wanted list for being nice, Jigen deary,” 

“You’re the most annoying brat I’ve ever met, you know that?” 

“I could say the same about you! Always so negative. Would it  _ kill  _ you to be less cynical for a change?” 

“I’m not cynical! I’m just thinking logically, and logically, you are the world’s biggest bitch!” Jigen spat, and it took everything in Lupin’s system not to tug the pillows off of the couch and bap them both over their thick skulls. 

“You’re both the worst, you know,” the thief murmured, groaning and sinking back into the couch, feeling as though the day was suddenly fifty hours long as he weighed his options. 

On one hand, the information that Fujiko was giving could very well win him back his dearly beloved Ophelia, as well as give him the chance to clobber whatever crummy thief was responsible for making a fool out of him and his friends. 

However, on the other hand, Fujiko could most definitely be tricking them again. In fact, out of the two options, that one was the most plausible. It had happened so many times, in fact, that it was almost  _ too  _ obvious that this whole thing was just a ploy to steal the painting from the guy who stole the painting from Lupin. She was definitely trying to con him and the others again, there was almost no doubt about it. 

Lupin took a deep breath, nodding to himself as Jigen and Fujiko continued to argue, Goemon holding back either laughter or so much annoyed, foul language he’d make a sailor blush. He had chosen carefully, for he knew that whatever option he went with would determine his financial status and how much humiliation he would need to endure until the next heist. 

The decision had been made meticulously and without bias (which was what he told himself), and he was sure that the others would be quite understanding of it. 

“Fujiko,” he sighed softly, leaning forward on his knees once more and tossing her a forlorn glance. 

“At least my breath isn’t completely stained with the grossest cigarette brand known to ma-- oh, yes Lupin?” The cat burglar cut herself short and relaxed against the coffee table once more, her gaze shifting from an extraordinarily irritated Jigen to Lupin, who frowned lightly upon making eye contact. “Am I in?” 

All too soon, a grin broke out across the thief’s face and he raised his champagne flute, nodding enthusiastically, watching as her eyes shifted from concern to joy. “You’re in!” He exclaimed gleefully, excited to have her working alongside him once more. 

Next to him, he heard Jigen break out into a long, exasperated groan as Goemon’s stature finally broke, and Lupin found that he had, in fact, been holding in bouts of laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can someone send me some of tjhose yellow cherries in the mail please those are so fucking good and im getting scurvy


	3. goose chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin is beginning to grow antsy and aggravated due to the combination of humid heat and being stuck in a car for nine hours. Hopefully, the drive to the bar this mystery thief's alleged alias works at proves to be worth it after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rattles my cage bars* fruit smoothie for the love of god

A sticky groan reverberated off of Lupin’s throat as his eyelids, tacky with sleep and excessive alcohol from the night before, peeled open slowly, uncomfortable and stinging as light pressure pushed itself into his waist. It was persistent, uncomfortable, somewhat annoying, rocking him back and forth as he lay in his tangled position on the ugly little couch. Absently, he reached one of his hands over his shoulder, careful to keep himself turned toward the inside of the couch rather than face whatever light may harass his vision if he were to turn around, and began swatting at the pressure, which he soon realized was actually a pair of hands jostling him lightly awake. 

“Luuuupin,” called a familiar voice, low and gruff and strangely rumbly. It must’ve belonged to a man, and judging by how deep it was, he had probably just woken up as well. “Lupin, wake up,” 

The thief groaned, shaking his head  _ no  _ as obviously as he could with his face pressed into couch cushions, taking another bat at the hand with his own, but only managed to brush against skin. He tried opening his mouth, wanting to tell whoever was touching him to bug off, but found that the stale morning taste had glued his lips shut, leaving him silent save for a few drowsy grumbles. 

“C’mon, Lupin, you’re going to make everybody late. We have a long way to drive today,” the voice said again, and this time more recognition seeped lazily into Lupin’s half-awake brain, which was still warming up to the idea of being fully conscious. It was none other than Interpol’s finest cajoling him into the waking world with soft, warm hands and a quiet disposition, sounding strange and far off and only a little bit distorted. 

“Nuh-uh,” Lupin found himself murmuring, curling in on himself as much as he could. Momentarily, the hands left his side, before returning once more at his ribs and shoulder, pressing into him with just a little more force, shaking him.

“C’mon darling, don’t you want to see me? Wake up, silly,” the inspector’s voice cooed in a tone that didn’t suit him whatsoever, pouty and saccharine and far too comfortable with calling Lupin ‘darling.’

A chill erupted throughout the thief’s body, starting at the root of his spine and exploding all the way to the top of his head and the bottoms of his feet, and the tips of his fingers. With a jolt, he sat up as fast as he could, turning his back to face Zenigata so fast it popped somewhat painfully, eyes blown wide, mouth agape. 

“Pop--  _ Fujiko?”  _ He interrupted himself mid accusation when he came nose-to-nose with the woman, her amber eyes blinking back owlishly at him, frown small and puzzled. Had he not just awoken from what was, apparently, a dream, he would’ve found it endlessly endearing, especially with the way her dimples were practically  _ begging  _ to dot the corners of her bubblegum pink mouth. 

“Yeah?” She chuckled, at last smiling and pushing herself up off of the floor, delicate fingers slowly sliding across the cloth of Lupin’s pyjama shirt and instead finding a home balled up on her hips. She cocked her head ever so slightly to the left, shifting her position so that her weight was more focused on her left foot. “Who else?” She teased, leaning forward to momentarily run her fingers through Lupin’s bedhead. He grimaced, flinching away from the movement, never a morning person that liked to be toyed with. 

“Why’d you wake me up?” He asked with a groggy little yawn, avoiding the question, though he did begin to push himself up off of the couch, eyes half-lidded and threatening to close once more. “It’s still early,” 

At that, Fujiko frowned. “Did you not hear me when I told you that we were going to need to get an early start last night? The others are already waiting in the car, they went ahead and got dressed way, way before you even woke up. I figured I’d let you sleep in a bit since you drank so much last night, but maybe that was a bad choice,” she arched an eyebrow, and Lupin could only grin sheepishly, shrugging as innocently as he could. 

“I don’t remember you saying that. You said yourself I drank a lot, right?” 

“You’ve drunken more and remembered everything before, you know,” 

“Maybe what you gave me was really strong,” 

“It was  _ champagne,”  _

“Champagne can be really strong,” 

“No. It can not.” Fujiko said matter of factly, scowling meanly and leaning forward, an action that was enough to make Lupin shrink nervously in on himself, a careful chuckle escaping his cracked lips. “Now go get dressed before I shove you ass-first into the Fiat in your tee-shirt and boxers,” 

“Ah!” Lupin yelped, quickly glancing down to see that his long, skinny legs were out on full display, blue and white striped boxers sharing a similar fate. “Oh, Fuj don’t look! Don’t you know it’s rude to stare at somebody in their underwear?” He giggled, playfully pretending to cover himself up with his arms in faux bashfulness. 

“Oh, you’re one to talk you perv!” The cat burglar all but yelled, exasperated, quickly raising her hand to issue a hard swat onto Lupin’s forearm. “Now go, come on! Otherwise, we’ll just leave you in the dust, and go get the painting for ourselves, and God knows you won’t get even a lick of the share,” 

Suddenly, the dots seemed to connect, a switch was flipped, a lightbulb turned on, a point was realized-- and Lupin’s entire face lit up with abrupt recollection. “Is that what we were doing today?” He asked quietly, frowning gently at Fujiko, who groaned in frustration and raised her hand, ready to deal yet another swat to the thief’s arm. “Alright, alright! I’m going!” He yelped, narrowly dodging a slap to the hand, scowling at Fujiko in a way that could’ve seemed childish had he not been so tired, and she returned the gesture in a softer way, one that told him she didn’t  _ really  _ mean it. 

“I’ll be in the car, slowpoke, so shake a leg!” She exclaimed, beginning to turn on her heel to walk out of the apartment. 

Lupin screwed up his face, pursing his lips and wrinkling his nose lightly. “Only old people say that you know,” 

“And only lazy bums sleep through a heist!” 

“This isn’t even a heist, it’s just some stupid goose chase…”

“Okay, yeah, but a goose chase that everybody else is already prepared for. Stop being whiny and just _go!”_ Fujiko, pausing at the end of the couch on her journey to the somewhat dilapidated door, hefted up one of the knitted throw pillows and, with the arm of a strongman, threw it at the thief, who narrowly ducked and scurried away from the scene, cursing lightly and trying not to slip on the hardwood floor as he escaped to one of the bedrooms, where he and Jigen shared a closet.

As a form of punishment for making everybody run a little later than planned, Lupin was shoved into the backseat next to poor Goemon (who the thief decided he was going to talk the ear off of) as Fujiko took the passenger seat with a roadmap that seemed twice as big as she was, and Jigen found his spot behind the wheel. 

They had pulled out of their shitty parallel park job fairly well, only bumping the car behind them twice before managing to speed out onto the street, everybody red-faced and feeling guilty when the alarms began to blare on the second love-tap the Fiat accidentally issued to the poor Honda Civic’s bumper, Fujiko beginning to scold Jigen on being more mindful of other cars in full spaces as the gunman lowered his head, cheeks flushing bright and eyes hiding beneath the brim of his hat. 

The bar that the mystery man’s alleged alias worked at was located five hours away from where the gang was in London in a place called Penzance, which was a small fishing town creeping right up to the edge of the Celtic Sea in the Penwith district of Cornwall. There was a seedy bar right along the coast called something something Devil something-- Lupin couldn’t quite remember, but it was related to hell in  _ some  _ way and corny as all get out. In fact, he almost couldn’t take it seriously while Fujiko was discussing the route they were going to take in order to get there, which was probably why he hadn’t remembered which route they were going to take, and was infinitely surprised when, rather than taking a quicker, more industrial road out of the city, Jigen swerved the car and peeled out onto thick gravel that crunched beneath the Fiat’s (brand spankin’ new!) tires that told Lupin they would soon be driving in a much more rural area than they had started out in. When Lupin asked the two up front about it, he was met with a groan and an eye-roll and some sort of absent comment about how he should’ve paid more attention, so he instead turned to Goemon, who seemed to be expecting the question, and told him that taking a longer route would prove to be safer from any prying eyes. 

And so, Lupin learned that it would not take five hours sitting with three other people in the tiny car to reach their destination, but rather, nine. 

Minutes on the road spent choked full of idle chatter and road games that they had all learned to enjoy after years worth of sitting on their asses in the compact space of the Fiat melted into long, uncomfortable hours, limbs askew and heads lolled back, all senses of formality thrown out the window as jackets were discarded and shirts were unbuttoned and pants were very, very close to coming off. The once comfortable heat of the morning paired with a nice, rain-soaked breeze was now just heavy, humid, stuffy, and claustrophobic. It weighed down on every inch of Lupin’s skin, made him itch erratically at his legs and arms, and run sweating fingers through damp hair, and he was ever grateful when the sun lowered to the horizon, the sweltering afternoon giving way to something a little softer, a little cooler. He wasn’t sure how much longer there was to go on this stupid trek to hunt down the asshole who took Ophelia right from beneath his nose, but good God he hoped it would end soon. 

The tiny yellow car sped down along the British countryside, zipping past fields brimming with kingcup and dog rose amongst the thick, waving greenery that threatened to creep onto the gravel they were driving on. The evening was slowly encasing the world in a deep shade of mulberry, stretching across the expanse of the land and pushing itself into the car through the windows and sunroof, which had long since been opened to allow the wind to tumble inside in gusts of much-needed coolness that lapped kindly at the thieves and their tacky, hot skin and their twitching fingertips and flushed cheeks and sleepy eyes and sweat-stained clothes dyed dark from the twilight. 

Several times, Jigen sped over bumps along the grit path, causing the entirety of the car to practically jump off of the road, and anybody who was half-asleep was met with a rather rude wakeup call that left them with a sore ass and bruised elbows that knocked painfully against the door, their heads bumping the windows, grunts and groans and grumbled silent complaints making their rounds before silence enveloped the group once more, almost like a wave of momentary discomfort that was forgotten immediately after occurring. 

Lupin was beginning to grow increasingly more and more restless, tapping his fingers on any surface he could and gnawing at his lower lip enough to make minuscule, shivering dots of blood swell up on the skin that he had bitten off with all of his teeth’s worrying. He had never been one to sit still for so long, and even the release of undoing his buttons all the way down to his pants and allowing the wind to billow into his still-tucked blouse was not enough to satiate him. He felt as though he were going to suffocate were he forced to sit a moment longer in the Fiat, and as he thunked his head against the window for the millionth time in what must’ve been six or seven minutes, he shot an annoyed glance at Jigen and considered asking to take the wheel lest he go insane.

Beside him, he caught Goemon in his peripheral, shifting on his crossed legs, arms resting on the opening of his hakama, as he had drawn them inside of his sleeves and merely allowed his small fingers to drape over the lightly colored fabric. Other than the creeping tint of blush running feverishly along his dark cheeks, he looked completely unbothered, hair blowing this way and that across his face, looking far more peaceful than anybody else in the car. 

Lupin considered reaching out to poke at him, or perhaps try to start up a conversation just to have somebody to talk to, though he knew that all of his efforts would be in vain; nothing was going to keep the samurai from whatever state of meditation he was in. The bastard couldn’t be jostled, and Lupin knew that trying to do so would only embarrass him, so with a muted groan of exasperation and tired, half-lidded eyes, he turned away from his friend and instead opted to lean forward in his seat, pressing his forehead to the leather of Fujiko’s chair. 

Immediately, it stuck to his tacky skin, but it was a cool surface, and leaning against it would give him a break from constantly turning his head this way and that like some sort of frantic bird. 

“Say, Jigen dear,” he began, voice a lot more guttural than usual after not using it for so long. He furrowed his brow, sitting back up and clearing his throat a few times into his fist, looking sidelong out the window he was next to. “Jigen? Ya hear me, pal?” He asked again, this time sounding much like his regular self as he attempted to get the gunman’s attention once more. 

“I heard you the first time,” Jigen responded, voice dripping with fatigue as, just as bored and hot as everybody else he rested one elbow on the side of the door, his left hand steered the wheel, lazily moving it back and forth in a motion that was almost mesmerizing. The high beams shone brightly up ahead, partially illuminating the gunman’s features, though not enough to really see his expression. “I was just hopin’ you’d give up after I didn’t respond,” 

Lupin rolled his eyes, not sure why he hadn’t been expecting such a dry, sarcastic answer. He sank back in his seat, hugging his arms ‘round his waist and staring dully at the black mess of shaggy hair sticking out wildly from beneath the gunman’s hat. “I just wanted to know how much longer we have to sit in this stuffy damned car,” 

“Woah,” Fujiko said from her position on the passenger seat, her shoes off and discarded on the floor as her feet came up to rest on the dashboard, knees pressing into her chest, arms hugging beneath her and clasping just at her thighs. Her bright red hair had been undone from its ponytail, curls spilling from either side of the headrest and threatening to brush against Lupin’s face. “didn’t know you could badmouth the Fiat like that,” 

“It’s a car,” Lupin responded dully. 

“Uh yeah, but that’s never stopped you from treating it better than us,”

“Weren’t you asleep, Fuj?” 

“I was pretending,” 

“Why?” 

“Bored,” Fujiko said simply, and from behind her, Lupin could see the way she innocently shrugged her shoulders, Jigen chuckling lightly as he continued to keep his eyes on the dark road ahead.

At that, Lupin groaned, slapping a hand over his face and dragging it down slowly, tapping both of his feet rapidly on the floorboard, unsure of how much longer he would be able to just  _ sit.  _ Since they had started driving along the countryside, there were no rest stops or gas stations that could possibly warrant any sort of leg stretching, so for the past two-- five? hours, Lupin had been stuck folded like a damned lawn chair as he tried to remain comfortable in his seat. 

“We’re almost there, stop whining,” Jigen grunted, accelerating the car ever so slightly, and the thief could hear the way the engines revved and rumbled, a dull, soft noise that, any other time, could’ve lulled him to sleep. 

“Yeah? And what makes you so sure, hm?” He spat back, all but pouting his lower lip and dramatically slumping against the door, pulling his legs up to fold into his chest. He hadn’t meant to snap with so much venom, but he was beginning to grow more and more irritated by the moment, every little sound and sensation enough to prick at his skin. 

“No need to be rude, Lupin,” came Goemon’s sudden voice, and Lupin tossed him a lackluster glare.

“Go back to meditating,” he huffed, almost in a murmur too quiet to hear. 

“I wasn’t meditating,” 

“You weren’t?” Jigen asked, sounding mildly surprised. “Dude, I was making faces at you in the rearview mirror for like ten minutes trying to get some sorta eye contact outta you and then gave up because I thought you were doing whatever the fuck kind of spiritual bullshit that you usually do,” 

“I saw you, Daisuke,” Goemon nodded, and Lupin could practically  _ feel  _ the embarrassed blush radiating off of the gunman’s cheeks. 

“Why didn’t you respond?” 

“It was funnier to let you be,” 

“Y’know, samurai, I don’t think I like you very much,” 

Goemon’s lips twitched upward and innocently, he shrugged with a light hum. From the passenger seat, Fujiko snorted, tipping her head back a little further than it already was, sighing softly. 

Lupin, infinitely grateful that there was some sort of talking to distract from the constant drone of tires crunching along hard gravel, slowly unraveled his legs and stretched them out, placing them on the middle console. “So, Jigen, you never answered my question,” he sniffed, popping his knuckles with a few loud  _ cracks.  _

“Oh, that was an actual question?” Jigen blinked, momentarily turning his head to look at Lupin before his attention shifted back to the road. “I thought you were just being an asshole,” 

“I was. But an asshole with a question,” 

“You’re the worst. Anyway, we’re almost there and I  _ know  _ we’re almost there because I can see the damn city lights, you impatient little monkey,” 

“You can  _ huh?”  _ Lupin exclaimed, a sudden rush of excitement bursting through his body as, quickly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed himself forward, startling poor Goemon as he launched himself up, hands pushing against the middle console. 

“Hey! Douchebag, sit back down!” Jigen exclaimed, accidentally swerving the car in all of the commotion, causing Lupin to momentarily stagger as he clung to either side of the sunroof, pulling himself up and popping his head through the opening to take in the sight for himself. 

Sure enough, there were the somewhat dim lights of Penzance out in the distance, small and looking like one of the most uneventful places in all the world, isolated from any big cities and, therefore, isolated from all of the fun that Lupin normally got to experience on heists or… whatever you wanted to call this little goose chase. However, he couldn’t help but grin with relief as the wind tackled his body, pushing his hair back and causing tears to sting at the inner corners of his eyes from all of the sudden dryness, his smile partially due to the pressure of it blowing in his face and forcing his grin to widen as the Fiat sped onward, closer and closer to the city. 

Not willing to slide back down inside of the stuffy car to face the heat and discomfort all over again, Lupin leaned forward and bent his legs ‘til his knees rested on the middle console, folding his arms and resting them atop the roof of the car as his chin nestled on them, wind continuing to push its fingers through his hair and peel his eyelids back uncomfortably. Nobody gestured for him to come back down, nor did they poke at him for being a nuisance, so he simply allowed his head to lean heavily to the side as he stared, transfixed in some strange, surreal way, at the lights ahead, feeling his head swim languidly, stomach no longer flipping and uncomfortable now that the promise of being able to actually use his legs seemed to be a mere twenty minutes away. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ Lupin sighed happily, falling into a lunge as he stretched the numb, jittering muscles in his legs, eyes closing softly as the ache slowly began to ebb away, hands rubbing along his shins and knees, attempting to loosen them from their stiffened state. From beside him, Jigen, who was also stretching as hard as he could, let out a low whistle. 

“Someone’s getting old,” he sniffed, reaching up and bending as far back as his spine would allow him, grunting slightly with each and every pop of his neck, a yawn tearing itself from between his lips before he was able to say anything else insulting. 

“You’re almost as old as Pops, so don’t you come talking to me about aging,” Lupin spat back, standing back up and rotating his shoulders, practically melting with relief as his joints cracked and bones creaked. Jigen, of course, was right-- he  _ was  _ getting a little old, but that was nothing to worry about. Not with the state he was in at least, fitter than a fiddle and two times as handsome in his oh so humble opinion. 

As expected, Penzance was… small. The cobbled streets were mottled and grey, and every brick on every wall of every building was painfully similar with dark brown rooftops that loomed over the thieves and their tiny Fiat, whose yellow was so bright it now seemed like a target. In fact, if this operation to find the mystery thief was successful, it probably  _ would  _ end up a target. 

Jigen had, once again, been forced to parallel park, fitting into a space between two rather large pickup trucks, the one in front red and old, rust spreading across the area near the back tires like a disease while the one behind was, of course, just like everything else, grey and dull and somewhat dusty. Thankfully, the Fiat’s size made it perfect to squeeze comfortably between the two trucks, though Lupin silently worried about how difficult it would be to get out of the situation if things got a little bit too hairy and they had to make a quick escape.

All around them, the humidity seemed to be amplified tenfold, the air thick and heavy and draping across the gang’s shoulders like an enormous blanket, reeking of fish and brine and years worth of sun-bleached wood. The scent stung at Lupin’s nose, a little strange and sweet when the air was still, but almost bordering on refreshing whenever the breeze picked back up again and whistled gently through the dark, rank alleyways nestled snugly between buildings. 

It was still a little bit early in the evening, only closing in on nine-thirty PM, so the streets had not yet emptied out. In fact, there seemed to be a dull hum bouncing off of the walls and pouring into the streets, idle conversation rich and everywhere in every bar, restaurant, and café in sight. Men and women in suits and ties wound down from long days at their jobs over pints of beer and plates of unhealthy bar food, probably avoiding the walk-- or drive-- home, clinging to the young night just as any businessperson would. 

Fujiko hummed softly, taking a deep breath and raising her arms above her head, adjusting the straps to her white camisole. She used to be wearing a tee-shirt overtop it, but the heat had gotten to her three hours into the drive, and, like everybody else, she shed layers and made do with what she could. 

“It’s cute,” she remarked, leaning against the door of the Fiat alongside Goemon as the pair watched Lupin and Jigen stretch out their legs. “a little fishy for my taste, though,” 

From his peripheral, Lupin saw a joke forming on Jigen’s lips, though he must’ve swallowed it, for he merely huffed in response, finally satisfied with the looseness of his spindly arms and legs, now digging his hands into his pockets with a light sigh. 

“Are you completely certain that this is where we can find our meddlesome crook?” Goemon asked, looking over Zantetsuken carefully, dragging a finger along the wooden sheath in an idle manner before shifting his attention to Fujiko and pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “It is difficult to imagine somebody who must be as rich as him staying in a town like this,” 

Fujiko only shrugged, Lupin finally satisfied with his own stretches and adjusting his jacket, which he had since put back on, though the sleeves had grown wrinkled and the lapel slightly messy from sitting on the floor of the car for several hours. “Beats me,” she said casually, hooking one ankle over the other, beginning to rifle around in her purse in search of her menthols.

“Bum me one,” Jigen said, though there was no demand behind his tone as he reached his hand out, fingers motioning for Fujiko to offer him a smoke. Fujiko sniffed, turning her nose up at him and flicking the carton closed with her index finger. 

“We’re in town. Go buy your own damn cigarettes,” she said cooly, objects clattering about the confines of her black bag, a look of frustration beginning to form on her face when she couldn’t seem to find anything. At last, however, she found what she was looking for, and withdrew a lighter-- the cheap gas station kind that you can buy for fifty cents a pop. 

“Stingy,” Jigen complained, and she merely shrugged, lighting her cigarette in a way that allowed the flame to illuminate the features of her face and make her hair, which was slowly beginning to grow more and more frizzy, curls no longer as luscious or smooth as they had been an hour ago, glow slightly in the light. She took a drag, closing her eyes softly and letting the smoke billow out through her nose before putting the lighter back in her purse, plucking the cigarette from her lips, and holding it loosely near her face, limp-wristed and casual. 

“I’d hardly say I’m stingy,” she huffed, pushing herself off of the side of the car with a slight grunt, patting at her bag for something that Lupin couldn’t see as she approached the sidewalk, cigarette returning to her lips, though she made no move to take a drag. 

“Oh?” Jigen asked with a chuckle, though he fell into step beside her as she began to walk up the street, Lupin and Goemon quick to follow, both of them figuring that they might as well stop standing around and get to work. “How so?” 

As they passed beneath a streetlamp, flickering and old and probably left uncared for, the cat burglar grinned, the apples of her cheeks rounding out, eyebrows raising in an expression of condescendence that fit her face particularly well. “Well, I  _ am  _ leading you to the bar your mystery man works at. We’ll be there in under ten minutes if we keep this pace-- so be sure you’re all prepared to meet your maker if that’s what he turns out to be,” 

“Oh, please, Fujicakes,” Lupin grinned, his bowlegged stride just a tad looser than usual, shoulders rolling back absently in their sockets as he continued to stretch them out without really thinking about it. “I’m not afraid of him. He only managed to take our prize because  _ somebody  _ slipped up,” 

Jigen bristled visibly. “I fucking sneezed, man, is that a crime?” 

“In the world of thieves and sneaking around it is,” 

Fujiko snorted. “I still can’t believe that’s what caused you idiots to be caught by Pops,” 

“It wasn’t,” the gunman said almost immediately, and Lupin worried that he was in for it. “that was Lupin’s bad. Y’know, if it were  _ me,  _ I would’ve punched him or kicked him or something, but clearly, Lupin is above roughhousing with police inspectors now,” 

The thief flushed. He was right about being in for it. 

“I was not  _ above  _ that, I would win in a fight with the old man,” he spat, and at the mention of Zenigata, he momentarily remembered his half-conscious dream, though he chose to ignore it rather adamantly, sure that it was nothing more than something born from the anxiety of being caught... again. “he  _ sat on me,  _ Jigen, didn’t you see? I couldn’t move even if I tried,” 

“There are ways to use your enemy’s advantages against you, Lupin,” Goemon said wisely from beside the thief, so, to thank him for his words of ultimate insight, Lupin shoved into him with his hip, causing the samurai to stumble awkwardly into a newspaper stand, yelping softly as he did so. When he righted himself, he coughed, cheeks very obviously flushed before returning to the group, but didn’t continue to walk regularly until he crashed his shoulder into Lupin, halfway toppling the thief over, his footing completely lost for a moment or two before he was able to wheel his arms around and regain it. Curse that asshole’s broad shoulders. And, since he was cursing things, the thief decided to curse his string-bean physique. 

“What, so you think I can just shove him off of me? The man is built like a damned  _ brick,”  _ Lupin grumbled, crossing his arms childishly over his chest with a huff, rolling his eyes as obviously as he could. 

Goemon merely shrugged. “I would’ve,” 

As he buried his hands in his pockets, striding ahead, Jigen tipped his head back and laughed, the sound ringing off of the dull walls and mixing pleasantly with the ambiance of nearby pubs that were buzzing with somewhat lazy activity, not quite active but not quite asleep, either. Lupin, not about to take such low blows, merely flushed bright pink, grumbling something that even  _ he  _ couldn’t hear and turning away with his ears practically glowing with heat as Jigen continued to snigger, Fujiko holding in her own chuckles as they rounded a corner, shoes clicking absently against the concrete beneath them. 

It was just about three corners rounded later that Lupin spotted something that made his heart jump straight into his throat. As a matter of fact, he damn near stopped in his tracks, staring at it with eyes wider than saucers, mouth opening and closing slowly, breath hitched. 

There, sitting in the parking lot of the dingiest looking bar he had ever seen, surrounded by smaller, cheaper cars, sat a pitch-black Jaguar, engine off and interior empty save for what looked to be a large crate pressing against the back window. There were several objects within the crate, ones that the thief recognized to be smoke bombs. His heart skipped a beat, anxiety beginning to wring at his stomach. 

“Jigen,” he said softly, and the gunman nodded quickly, hand instinctually drifting toward his holster. From beside him, Goemon had already clicked Zantetsuken out of its sheath, holding it steady in his fist, eyes focusing on the building in front of them, an air of unease about him that it seemed as though everybody around him could feel. 

Fujiko sniffed, spitting out her cigarette and stepping on it with the sole of her white heel, grinding it into the cobblestone street, her thumbs hooked casually in her pockets. “So, are the bells already ringin’ for you three?” She asked rather nonchalantly, finishing her complete and utter demolition of the half-smoked menthol cigarette and taking the first step forward, hand slowly easing into her bag, clearly reaching for a concealed weapon.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Lupin huffed lightly, following in suit as Goemon and Jigen took up the rear, each step filled to the brim with caution; nobody wanted to activate any sort of trap or let the occupants of the bar-- called the Devil’s Advocate because  _ of course,  _ it was-- know of their no-good and probably unwelcomed presence. 

The thief’s shoe pressed up against a loose stone, and he could practically feel the way it ground beneath his foot in every single bone of his body as closer and closer he stalked, the others right at his heel, attentive and on high alert. If anything were to happen, this guy was very clearly an expert in his craft, which meant it would be completely unwise to pick a fight with him just yet. That could wait-- for now, the only task was to simply enter the bar without too much hassle. 

Should they have formed some sort of a plan to get inside? Would they need to spread out, or was it safer to go in as a group? Would they face the instantaneous business end of a gun the moment they pushed the ratty, peeling door open? Was this even the right fucking person? 

The gears in Lupin’s brain were turning at sickening speeds, and he could feel the steam spilling from his nose and between his lips as hot nervousness stung at his eyelids. There really was no going back now: the door, painted olive green with deep gold lettering boasting the title of the bar, stood right in front of his nose, tempting and coaxing and urging him to push it open, to peek inside, to face the man that could very well be the first-- and, that being said, last-- to best the great Arséne Lupin the Third and his dearly beloved companions. 

With a sharp breath, he wrapped his hands around the cool, brass handle. They had all been in tighter spots than this, right? They had pushed themselves out of stickier situations and survived under more dire circumstances. They would be able to handle a few bullet wounds if they were to be shot at, they had done it plenty of times before and they would do it plenty of times again. A simple rinse and repeat type of situation (of course, though, Lupin prayed silently in his mind that it was not). 

At last, gathering up every ounce of nerves, he pushed into the door with his hand gripping fast and tight to the handle and--

\--and it didn’t open. 

He frowned, furrowing his brow, trying once, twice, three times over, the other three staring at him with confusion glazing over their vision, frowns painted across concerned lips, murmuring one thing or another into each other’s ears. 

“Ah… Lu,” Jigen said softly from behind him. “I uh…” 

“Is this place closed or something?” Lupin asked, beginning to grow more and more frustrated, jiggling the handle violently, throwing all caution and attempts to be quiet out the window. 

“No, I don’t believe so,” Goemon murmured quietly. “the door might just be stuck, it is rather humid,” 

Lupin grumbled, the handle beginning to grow far too warm for his taste as his frustrations rose, feeling as though a kettle were going off in his head as he felt his cheeks heat up-- he wasn’t sure if he was mad at the door or growing embarrassed. “Can doors seriously get  _ this  _ swollen?” He grumped, no longer focused on the position he was holding his gun, and rather opting to keep it carelessly near his side, finger far away from the trigger, not properly poised to defend himself in any way, shape, or form. 

“Do you remember the cowhouse we had to stay in over in Scotland?” Fujiko piped up casually, sounding much less tense than she had earlier. “That door got so stuck Goemon had to bust through it,” 

The samurai, upon mention of the event, sighed. “Another worthless object cut,” 

“Oh shut up, you, it was pouring rain and we needed to get inside,” Jigen snorted, and Lupin could practically feel his blood boiling, humiliated that he was being taken down by an old, breaking door that probably weighed less than him if such a thing was even possible. 

Finally, he had had enough. He held the handle firmly in his hand and drew back, his forehead and tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks cherry red from exertion and pure shame. With one last grunt, he turned the handle and slammed his shoulder into the door, shoving with all of his might. 

With a loud crash and a creak, it burst open, and all hope for subtlety was completely lost when several patrons of the dark, dusty bar lowered their drinks and their cards and their cigarettes and whatever else and simply turned to stare at him, eyes wide, as their startled expressions looked him over and seemed to assess the situation. 

In turn, he stood frozen in the entryway, still hanging awkwardly on the door, staring with an owlish gaze across the rotting wooden floors and stained countertop, the swinging lights swaying gently to and fro, casting odd, long shadows across the entire bar. 

“It…” Lupin swallowed hard and, much to his horror, probably audibly. “...it was stuck,” he sniffed. 

Just as soon as they had looked up at him, the patrons of the bar quickly returned to their previous activities, smiling into glasses of whiskey and rum and club soda, finishing drags of their cigarettes, laying down their card hands. The dull, gentle hum of conversation steadily increased ‘till the entire building was buzzing once more, a picture of contentment and casualty. 

Behind him, Lupin heard the others begin to file in, and he straightened himself out, gently sliding his fingers off of the doorknob and wiping his now-sweaty hands off on his pants, still far too humiliated. He allowed Jigen to close the door with a quiet  _ click,  _ the stupid wooden thing having a much easier time slotting into its frame than being opened. 

Without looking behind him, the thief shuffled forward, making a rather clear beeline for the bar. He wanted to get this whole damned thing over with and over with  _ fast--  _ he couldn’t stand the atmosphere of the place and was almost immediately sick of the strange amalgamation of piss, blood, vomit, and beer that lingered in the air. It certainly didn’t hold the same small-town charm as any of the other buildings, quite obviously a place for outcasts and ne’er do wells that had no other place to go. 

Behind the bar, a man stood with his back turned away from the thief, a thick, stained beer glass held in his enormous, calloused hand as the other wiped it with an off-white rag, the fabric smoothing out inside of the cup and enveloping the outside of it despite the fact that it had clearly done all that it could. Lupin suspected that the bastard was simply trying to keep his hands busy and suddenly, as though remembering why he was here, repositioned his hold on his beloved Walther, trigger-finger attentive as ever, eyes narrowing. From across the bar, he heard a hushed murmur, a concerned whisper, a frightened mumble. 

“Excuse me,” he said, standing up as tall as he could, though he couldn’t possibly hope to hold a candle to the height of the barkeep. When he received no answer, he cleared his throat, fixing his eyes hard on the man in front of him. 

Though he hadn’t turned to look at them, Lupin knew that the others were behind him, perfectly ready to attack at any moment, tensions running high as, slowly, the bar began to realize that this clumsy, thin man that had just barged through the door meant  _ trouble.  _

Good, Lupin thought sourly. Let them know that something bad is about to happen. 

His jaw clenched as, slowly, the barkeep turned around, and that same silver gaze from before shot right through him again, sending a sharp chill down the length of his spine, causing his hair to stand up on his arms and the back of his neck. 

He narrowed his eyes, raising his Walther. Silence fell heavy and fearful over the bar the very moment it was fully visible to everybody in the room and pointed at somebody. 

“That your Jaguar in the parking lot? It’s awful familiar,” 

“Who’s asking?” The man replied, speaking in a thick French accent, though his voice was gruffer than anybody’s Lupin had ever heard. Absently, he couldn’t help but muse that this stranger sounded just like a Parisian version of the heroes in one of Jigen’s westerns. 

Clearly, as he pushed his mop of black hair out of his face, he showed that he was not afraid to make eye contact, gaze digging into Lupin’s like a lion digs into its prey. Up close, he looked strangely youthful-- maybe in his early to mid-thirties, very few wrinkles there to distort his face, eyes still vibrant. Even still, judging by the thick, white scar that ran along his throat, Lupin knew that he was experienced in his line of work, and all too familiar with danger. 

“You know who’s asking you dirty crook. That painting you stole from me-- give it back. Or else… well, I’m sure you know what happens next,” Lupin said grimly, a dark smile quirking at the very edges of his lips upon finishing his statement, slowly cocking his Walther to let this son of a bitch know that he meant it. 

And then, just like that, the stranger broke out into the biggest grin Lupin had ever seen, the sharpness in his eye turning to something more like a twinkle, two, deep dimples gracing either side of his mouth. 

“I was wondering when you’d come looking for me, Mr. Lupin!” He exclaimed, and if that alone wasn’t enough to make the thief drop his gun, then the firm, incredibly friendly pat on his shoulder jostled him plenty, and the Walther slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with what felt like a deafening clatter. 

Though he couldn’t see their faces, Lupin simply  _ knew  _ that the others were just as unbelievably dumbfounded as he was, their silence speaking in volumes louder than anything they could ever even dream to say. No guns were shot, no swords were drawn, no scuffle, no spat-- just an incredibly friendly Frenchman with a million-dollar smile and the most terrifyingly buff physique Lupin had ever seen before. 

“Everybody keep doing what you were, the bar is fine and there isn’t any danger here. Don’t be nosy, now,” he called out to the bewildered patrons as they sat stiffly in their chairs and ducked behind their tables, slowly beginning to move again, almost as though they had been frozen in time for several moments. “and as for you, Mr. Lupin, I believe you’ll find what you were looking for in the back-- that is if you’d be so kind as to follow me. I have a client looking after it right now, but I’m sure I can ah…  _ convince  _ him to give Ophelia back to you,”

And then, before Lupin could even reply, the odd stranger was taking off his apron and rounding over to Lupin’s side of the bar, bending to pick up the fallen Walther, and placing an enormous, amicable hand on the thief’s shoulder while, almost like they had known one another forever, he led the puzzled thief to the back of the bar, the others following close behind and exchanging concerned, confused glances. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fic so far has felt rly boring, im very sorry abt that!! i promise things'll liven up soon :-] im just very bad at introductory chapters, gotta learn how to get the ball rollin a lil quicker hehehe


	4. striking bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin is a gullible, gullible man, but hopefully that'll prove to be a good thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i were in the lupinverse i'd make goemon listen to 100gecs and it'd put him in a coma for thirty years

“Just through here-- please mind the floorboards, the owner of this shitshow doesn’t really believe that maintenance is his biggest problem,” a large hand gently guided Lupin through a dark, looming frame, the actual door itself nonexistent except for the lingering memory of its hinges sticking to the sides of the entryway. As he stepped through the threshold, he took care to look down at his feet-- sure enough, one of the old wooden panels on the floor was rotted, and he stepped over it, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops as he fully entered the dimly lit area he had been shown. 

It looked and felt like a storage room, drafty and smelling vaguely of mildew, stacks upon stacks of old boxes lining the walls, filled to the brim with what looked to be glasses and books and fabric and furniture, among other strange, useless things that no normal bar would ever have. There were only a few lights to illuminate the entire space, one of them beginning to flicker out with age as it hung meekly from the ceiling, perfectly providing a spotlight for a dead rat, one that seemed to have long since decayed, blackened flesh only just barely clinging to bone.

The others followed hesitantly, eyes shifting to and fro, fingers flinching toward their weapons at any given moment, eyeing the strangely jovial man suspiciously and making no move to hide their scowls. One by one, they shuffled in, Goemon bringing up the rear, and Lupin could hear the way he unclicked Zantetsuken from its sheath, ready to draw it at any given moment and bring hell to the tall man, who had long since noticed their apprehension. 

“There’s no need to worry, really,” he hummed, and then pointed to a room just to the left, the door ajar and looking similar to the one in the very front of the bar, though its paint job seemed just a little bit better. There was an obvious clearing of boxes, which meant it must’ve only just recently been opened. “I have no reason to bring harm to any of you fine people,” 

“Then why the hell’d you bring us to this dump?” Jigen asked before anybody else could speak, and Lupin felt sweat bead at his brow. He knew that if they made one wrong move, they could be in some serious danger, for they still had no idea what this creep’s actual intentions were. He  _ seemed  _ all well and good, his disposition sunny and gaze less intimidating when he wasn’t glaring, but Lupin knew damned well to never judge a book by its cover. He had done that one too many times and suffered one too many injuries from it. 

“This  _ dump,  _ my friend, is where I store all of my treasures. Including  _ her, _ ” he strode over to the door, slipping his hand over the knob with a wink and gently pulling it open, the hinges whining and exclaiming loudly that they needed to be oiled quite desperately. Lupin stared at the opening, feeling every muscle in his body tense, his hand once again squeezing his Walther, preparing for the very worst. 

The worst, however, was not what awaited the group on the other side of the door. 

The walls were painted a light, almost pastel yellow, and were adorned with white trim, neat and pristine and very clearly cared for. Mahogany wooden panels made up the floor, the cherry-brown color of it shining with a thin layer of wax that must’ve just recently been laid down, and a thick, ornate rug, colored hues of red and gold and blue stretched across most of its expanse. The room was lit up with candles and antique lamps made of stained glass and crystal, casting a warm, orange glow across the various different objects that lay atop an oak coffee table and dark, brown shelf.

And then, Lupin’s trained eye was brought to what seemed to be the grand masterpiece of the entire place. 

Forlorn eyes and peach soft lips, her pallid complexion glistening with the water that enveloped her delicate body, hands folded sweetly near her middle, locks of thick, cinnamon hair floating like a halo around her lifeless gaze. 

“Ophelia,” he said quietly, blinking in disbelief, and being so rude as to actually hold out his index finger and point at her, looking over his shoulder to gaze at his partner’s expressions. None of them were even half as intrigued as he was, and he wondered if they still didn’t believe the man holding open the door. 

“That’s right,” the mysterious thief all but purred, creaking the door open just a little bit wide. “I had a potential client in here, but he must have left for a moment or two. I’m sure he’ll be back, but ‘til we have to deal with the likes of him, please feel free to come inside,” 

When nobody moved a single inch, he shrugged, smiling softly and stepping inside the room himself. Lupin stared as he sauntered toward one of the shelves, his clean shoes tapping momentarily along the floor before giving way to the softness of the rug.

Immediately, the moment he was out of earshot, Jigen tugged at Lupin’s sleeve, pulling him closer. “The hell do you think you’re up to, huh? We don’t know this guy,” he hissed into the thief’s ear. “I’m pretty damn sure we’re walking right into some sort of trap,” 

“I’m sure we are. But that painting--” Lupin began, though he was quickly interrupted. 

“It could be a fake, Lupin! Pull your head out of your ass and  _ think,  _ man,” Jigen spat, his cigarette-stained voice low and threatening, reverberating off of Lupin’s eardrums and causing a shiver to run up his spine. “just use your brain for a second. Can’t you tell that we’re falling for something clearly meant to kill us or worse?”

And so, upon the gunman’s request, Lupin thought. 

Jigen was right. This was almost definitely a trap, one that he was playing right into. He worried at his lower lip, staring at the strange barkeep as he bent at the waist and opened up a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of bourbon and walking them to an area that Lupin couldn’t see beyond the doorframe. As he began to walk back, he paused, looking over his shoulder and counting on his fingers how many people he was serving before, satisfied, he bent once more to retrieve six glasses. 

Would it be too risky to even share a drink with this man? Surely, if he had nefarious intentions, he would’ve made his move by now. There were several instances in which Lupin had his guard down, several instances in which a strike could easily be dealt. He hadn’t made any move to fight against Lupin or his friends, and there hadn’t been any obvious indicators of hidden assassins ready to take out the group, which even if there were, he was almost certain he could take them. 

“I think…” he began softly, and Jigen stared at him expectantly, stone-cold glare seeping into Lupin’s skin. “I think we should give him a chance,” 

An almost inaudible groan passed through the other three, and Lupin rolled his eyes, cautiously pushing his Walther back into his shoulder holster, fingers brushing lightly against his fabric. 

“You realize that we’re almost definitely going to get our asses handed to us, right? Or, at least close to it,” Fujiko remarked, though she pulled her hand out of her purse, instead opting to cross her arms over her chest. Lupin shrugged. 

“If things get messy, then we take the painting and leave,” 

“And if the painting ends up to be a fake?” Goemon asked, grip still tight on his sword, his knuckles paling considerably. He would probably remain tensed for the entirety of the night. 

“Then we threaten the guy ‘til he tells us where the real deal is,” Lupin grinned, though his confidence did not seep into any of the others as it so often did. Instead of noises of agreement or quiet, private cheers, or knowing grins, the only thing he received in turn for his optimism was skeptical glares and shifting eyes. 

He chose to ignore this, instead opting to enter the ornate, beautiful room with a pleasant expression pushing itself onto his face and warmth hidden in his demeanor. He wanted to make a good impression, after all, and what better way to do that than with a smile? 

Behind him, Jigen, Goemon, and Fujiko followed reluctantly. 

“So, you’ve decided to join me after all,” the barkeep grinned, and Lupin turned to see him sitting on a large, deep brown velvet chair, cushions sinking beneath his weight, one glass in front of him as four others sat on the other side, where another couch was positioned, the same color and shape and texture as the first. Just above hung a crystal chandelier, the warm glow coming from the stained glass lamps spilling over its shivering, delicate surface, casting droplets of colored light to scatter all across the floor and seating arrangements. “make yourself at home. I would have poured you all a drink-- but I didn’t actually know if you’d want to drink,” he hummed, that thick voice of his charming and smooth enough to convince  _ anybody  _ that they did, in fact, want a drink. 

“Thanks,” Lupin replied rather discourteously, not nearly as proper when addressing the man. He strode over and sat down, immediately sinking into the surprisingly comfortable cushions, looking around at the intricate room that enveloped him, resisting the urge to comment on each of the objects that he found interesting. Among that list included a soup terrain in the shape of a duck that was collecting dust in a record cabinet, an oil painting depicting a beautiful woman bathing in a rushing waterfall, her dark hair spilling all around her large, soft frame, and a glass case containing a pair of sapphire rings that seemed to hold their own luminosity in the somewhat dim corner they sat in.

Fujiko was the first to sit down next to him, Jigen following in suit. Goemon didn’t sit at all and instead stood by the armrest closest to the door, looking far more intimidating than usual what with his looming figure and cold stare. He was taking no chances, clearly, hands resting on Zantetsuken as a sign of caution for the poor fool who dared to cross him. 

Once everybody was comfortable, the tall man smiled, reaching forward with a strong hand and picking up the bottle of bourbon, unscrewing the top carefully as he began to speak with his liquid smooth voice. 

“My name is Jaques Baudelaire, and I’m the leader of an underground business that deals in selling and purchasing illegal goods and services,” he said matter of factly, clearly not wasting any time on pleasantries and cutting right to the chase. “I normally don’t do something as petty as taking something from a fellow thief, but you see, I had already planned on taking Ophelia from the museum in Tate. Of course, though, had I realized immediately that it was  _ you  _ who I was stealing from, Mr. Lupin, I wouldn’t have done so,” 

Lupin sniffed, smirking as he accepted the offered glass of bourbon, which he began to swish in its glass, a casual gesture that usually tended to make people feel at ease and unwisely comfortable around him. The action seemed to take a similar effect on Mr. Baudelaire. “So you’re a fan, then?” He asked, snorting lightly, and receiving a glare from Jigen, who refused his bourbon. Fujiko had taken her glass, though it seemed to be for the simple act of holding onto something rather than drinking the amber liquid inside. 

“Not a fan, no, though I do admire you and your companions’ work. I’ve seen some of the stunts you’ve all pulled off together,” Jaques paused, taking a slow sip from his glass, his eyes immediately going half-lidded as a contented sigh escaped his lips. “you’re quite the impressive bunch, I have to say,” 

“At the risk of sounding cocky, I would agree. My partners are probably the best there are, and I, of course, can’t help but be a good thief. It’s in my blood,” 

At that, Jaques cocked his head, laughing jovially. “Such confidence, Mr. Lupin!” 

“Just Lupin is fine,” 

“Well then,  _ Lupin,”  _ Jaques hummed, leaning forward with a wink as he said the thief’s name. “I’m glad to see that you are sure of you and your friends’ efforts. I must say, you’ve got the underground world very, very impressed, and I know many people who have watched your technique for a while but were never even able to come close to the talent you hold. It really is a pleasure to be meeting all of you,”

“The pleasure is ours, I’m sure,” 

“Yes, well,” the Frenchman smiled, and Lupin could’ve sworn there was a rosy tint to his cheeks, almost as though he was bashful at the implication. He coughed into his fist, a timid smile hidden on his face, eyes twinkling. “I assume you would like your painting back? I can assure you she’s completely genuine,” he changed the subject, and Lupin smiled, arching a brow and leaning back against the couch, taking a sip from his crystal glass. The bourbon was rich and tasted vaguely of hickory, stinging his tongue and burning his throat as it went down. 

“That would be nice...” Lupin grinned, the expression quickly returned to him. “...if there wasn’t a catch, Jaques,” he finished, and beside him, he felt Fujiko relax ever so slightly, crossing her legs and staring at the man in front of them. She must have been relieved to know that Lupin didn’t trust him either, and the thief almost tossed her an understanding glance but opted to keep his eye on the prize, who was smiling sweetly. 

“I suppose you could call it that,” he chuckled, hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “but it’s more of an offer that I would greatly appreciate if you accepted. Either way, I’m willing to give Ophelia back to you, free of charge,” 

Lupin frowned, blinking, gaze flicking across the man in front of him. “But why? Didn’t you have a client ready to buy it?” 

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” 

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“He will.” Jaques said instantaneously, and the sharpness in his tone drastically contrasted the smile sparkling on his bright, white teeth, and shining in his piercing eyes. Lupin felt a chill of unease run up and down his back, curling tightly around his spine and spiking at the very crown of his head. 

“What do you want from us?” Jigen asked after a strange moment of quiet, clearly uncomfortable with what had been said and the deafening silence that had followed, though he certainly didn’t sound like it. He leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee and sneering, confident in every way as he spoke. Had Lupin been anybody other than himself, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that the gunman was just as nervous as he was with Baudelaire’s cheery threat. 

“Ah,” Jaques chirruped. “well, it’s not that I want anything, really. I’m merely inviting you to come stay with me in my chateau back in Lyon. It’s not every day that I meet a world-class gentleman thief such as yourself, Mr. L-- ah, I mean Lupin. Besides, I’d love to be able to show you my work,” 

It was Fujiko who spoke this time, running her fingers through her hair in a feeble attempt to fix it. “Are you talking about your work dealing in illegal uh-- illegal goods and services?” She frowned, raising her glass to her lips and tipping it slightly. She did not take a drink and the bourbon simply sloshed up against her Cupid’s bow, which she quickly wiped with the pad of her thumb afterward. It was a gesture to appear less threatening, and Lupin had seen her use it plenty of times before (even with him).

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Of course, you all have the liberty to decline my offer, though I think it’d be in your best interest not to,”

“Best interest?” Lupin mused. 

“Yes,” 

“And why is that? Y’know, Jaques, this is beginning to sound like a threat,”

At that, the man merely shrugged, taking a careful sip of his bourbon, the twinkle in his eye returning as his gaze passed over the thief sitting in front of him. It was playful, daring Lupin to pry further, daring him to question the mysterious man and his trade, daring him to feign disinterest, daring him to merely ignore such an opportunity. There was a game to be played, here, and it was beginning to rope Lupin in, hooking under his chin and his ribs and the soles of his feet and dragging him ever closer to the bright-eyed man sitting so elegantly before him, calloused hands holding soft to the glass of bourbon with a gentlemanly sort of care. 

Lupin knew that there were horrible risks. There was a lot at stake-- and whether that meant Ophelia or his life, he couldn’t tell. But there was certainly a  _ lot.  _ The only question was whether or not he was willing to risk it. 

If he were to accept Baudelaire’s invitation, there was a very big chance that he and the others could be killed or worse. There was a very big chance that he and the others could be locked up, imprisoned, tortured. There was a very big chance that he and the others would be forced to work beneath him through violence, forced to serve to his every beck and call. These had all happened before, and though never successful, Lupin had grown to be wary over the years of such violence and cruelty. 

However, that was only one side of a very luxurious coin. 

For on the other side, the heads of the situation, Lupin would be brought over to a marvelously wealthy estate over in the beautiful Lyon, France with somebody who intrigued him greatly and would be treated like he hung the moon. He  _ was  _ interested in the business that Jaques ran and had many more questions he wanted to ask. Besides, even if this was some elaborate scheme to capture and possibly murder Lupin, it wasn’t though he had never been kidnapped before. Wasn’t as though he had never escaped situations at least fifty times worse than this one. What was the worst that could possibly happen?

“And you’re absolutely positive that the painting in this room is the original? I wouldn’t want to be played for a fool,” Lupin arched his eyebrow, drumming his fingers idly against the armrest of the couch. 

In response, Jaques hummed pleasantly. “You can inspect it all you’d like. Any of you-- just go ahead, take a look. You’ll be happy with the results, I swear it,” 

For a brief moment, not a single person in the room stirred. The atmosphere was heavy with a strange tension-- not dangerous, not really, but there was a slight chance that Goemon was on the very edge of losing his goddamned mind as he stared unapprovingly at their host. Lupin could tell that he was positively  _ itching  _ to unsheath Zantetsuken, and he was sure that everybody else could feel his distrust (maybe except for the esteemed Mr. Baudelaire himself, of course), eyes skimming the room every half a millisecond just to survey what he could possibly be up against. 

It was due to the samurai’s rigid posture that nobody on the couch dared to move a single muscle, instead letting the samurai stride purposefully over toward the painting, looking so determined that Lupin feared he may just cut the painting in half rather than closely observe every brushstroke, scratch, scuff, and detail to affirm whether or not the whole lot of them were being toyed with by this strange, strange man. 

Lupin stared at the back of Goemon’s hakama as, diligently, he worked, bending at the waist to be on eye-level with Ophelia, craning his head and tilting it to and fro, rocking back and forth on his sandals, reaching up with a ginger touch to ever so slightly graze the very surface of the art. He could feel both Fujiko and Jigen as they held their breath, nerves spiking, sweat beading, eyes wide. Normally, they wouldn’t be so strung out over a simple inspection like this one, however, both of them knew the exact same thing Lupin did.

If Goemon found out that the painting was a fake, the owner would most likely attack them in order to cover up for his fraud. 

They had a good reason to be worried, for even if they  _ could  _ take the guy, none of them had any real idea as to how many people worked for him, and how many people were willing to serve his every wish at the snap of his fingers. The reoccurring thought of the whole interaction simply being a ploy to catch all four of them at once flickered across Lupin’s mind, though strangely enough, it only lasted a moment or two before disappearing.

Something about Jaques was… endearingly trustworthy. Sure, the man had stolen from them, but that was  _ all.  _ He hadn’t tried to harm any one of them, and when the four had tracked him down and demanded to know where Ophelia was, he was gracious and even hospitable. He had offered them good alcohol, a good place to sit, and a good deal, and  _ boy  _ was he good with his words. Not that Lupin was narcissistic or anything,

(he definitely was)

but he couldn’t help loving the endless string praise the stranger had given him, wearing each compliment ‘round his neck like pearls. 

And so, when Goemon stood up straight, a grim expression streaked across his face as he announced that the painting was, in fact, genuine, Lupin clapped his hands jovially together, sitting up straighter than he had been earlier and grinning his Cheshire grin. 

With a hopeful little smile, Jaques whipped his head around, crossing his legs politely and sitting back on the couch, allowing the cushions to positively swallow him whole as he seemed to feign nonchalance. 

“I must admit, I was nervous about you at first, Jaques,” Lupin hummed amicably. He could feel the others’ eyes boring holes into his very skin; it damn near made him wince. “but you’ve been nothing but kind to us. I mean, normally, by now, the whole place would’ve been turned upside down, and bullets would be actively flying,” he chuckled, and he heard Jaques mimic the action. “I have to say,” he continued with a sniff. “you’re turning out to be pretty damn respectable,” 

At this, the man sitting across from Lupin seemed to glow pink, and bashfully, he turned away, leaning into his glass of bourbon. “Yes, well…” he murmured, the phrase seeming to be his go-to when he grew bashful, as he was sounding all too tickled at the idea that Lupin had said something like that to him. 

“I know the others might not be quite as warmed up to the idea, but it would only be  _ fair  _ if we joined you on your flight back to Lyon, right?” The thief chirped and then, leaning forward and turning his head to look at his cohorts with a grin and a glint in his eyes, he asked “Right?” and received no response except for the most blood-curdling glare in the world via Goemon’s piercing, dark gaze. His face fell, turning into a scowl as he leaned back into the couch and grinned pleasantly at Jaques. 

“You would all be alright with that?” The man asked, clearly excited about having guests over, especially such esteemed ones as Lupin and his friends. “With joining me?”

All at once, Jigen, Fujiko, and Goemon all opened their mouths and leaned forward like some sort of hivemind prepared to decline the offer  _ vehemently.  _ However, before anybody was able to answer at  _ all,  _ there was a loud crashing sound in the main bar. 

The entire room tensed, all of the occupants standing up as quickly as they could, guns drawn (Zantetsuken unsheathed, in Goemon’s case at least), expressions frightened or concerned or whatever they were fixed on the door that led to the intricate, hidden room. 

Muffled shouts were issued throughout the bar, several heavy sets of footsteps seeming to tear through everything they could. It sounded like chairs and tables had been moved loudly to the sides, cabinets opened and slammed shut, a few glasses falling to the floor and shattering. 

Suddenly, Lupin realized that he recognized the voice issuing the commands, and felt the way his face grew pallid and sickly, eyes darting from the door to the painting rapidly, calculations whirring in his brain, palms growing clammy with nervousness and strange anxiety. 

“Pops?” Jigen asked quietly, leaning back to get just a little closer to the thief, who swallowed hard and nodded grimly, furrowing his brow. 

“He found us pretty fast,” 

At this, Jigen only shrugged. “He always does. Hey, stranger,” he turned, Mangum still gripped in his steady hand as his glare pierced through the brim of his hat and directly into Jaques, who looked only somewhat shaken by the idea of police ransacking the bar only a few measly feet away. At Jigen’s command, he perked up, tossing the gunman a glace, frowning lightly in concentration. “we’ve decided that we’re gonna come with you, ‘kay? So long as you manage to get us outta this hot water,”

Jaques scoffed at this, pushing a surprisingly calm hand through his shock of dark hair, grinning almost deviously. “Oh, I’ll get you out, alright. All you’ll have to do is follow me,” 

“And the painting?” Fujiko asked, already halfway across the room. The sound of heavy, steel-toe boot-clad footsteps came thundering into the room just before the one they were all currently in, crashes from boxes and furniture being thrown to the side making the walls practically shake with impact. 

“You grab it, I’ll help you guys get it wrapped to be transported safely and unsuspiciously when we get on the helicopter,” 

“Helicopter?” Came the collective quesiton, confusion rising out of everybody’s throats as they stared at the Frenchman who, it seemed, gained a new perception from the Lupin gang every other minute. 

“Of course!” He responded cheerfully as a series of fists pounding at the door rattled the whole damned room. Zenigata’s voice was extraordinarily prominent on the other side of it, and Lupin had half a mind to yell out  _ in a minute!  _ ”What did you expect? We’re going to Lyon right away, and won’t have time to travel on anything slower,” another thud to the door, followed by Zenigata’s bellowing roar, calling out Lupin’s name with rage behind every syllable. “or, uh,” Jaques chuckled awkwardly. “or else,” 

“Well, I guess it’s settled then,” Fujiko grunted as she housed the painting by herself, Jigen quickly scrambling over to help her as much as he could while Goemon stood guard at the door, poised and ready to use Zantetsuken at any given point, eyes narrowed and mouth drawn thin while both the gunman and cat burglar scrambled over to where Jaques was standing. 

“Right!” The Frenchman exclaimed cheerily, clapping his hands together, eyes crinkling gently at the sides in pure joy. There was a glint of-- of  _ something  _ in them, something that Lupin didn’t recognize, and he swallowed strange as he smiled and nodded. “If you would please come with me, I’ll get you all to safety. The helicopter is just a few blocks away, hidden in a warehouse. You can’t miss it, it’s painted sage green and numbered 555,” he spoke rapidly, stepping backward and motioning for Fujiko and Jigen to follow, which they did, slipping out of a door he opened for them and scurrying off into the dark streets. “can you and Mr. Goemon stay behind and fend off our visitors for a little bit? I’m just going to make sure the goods are hauled out safely,” he called halfheartedly, with as much casualty as your friend tossing a bland remark over their shoulder as they got up to get lunch from the school cafeteria. Clearly, he wasn’t worried, and as he left, Lupin figured that he shouldn’t be either. 

He huffed out a chuckle, crossing his arms and standing beside Goemon, not bothering to draw his Walther. “You scared, Goe?” He teased, nudging the samurai softly with his hip. 

At that, Goemon flushed plum and didn’t turn to face Lupin. “Of course not,” he spat. “and please refrain from using that God awful nickname--”

“--unless I’m your boyfriend, Jigen, yeah. Got it, I know,” 

“I was not going to say that. And Jigen and I are not involved that way, you know this,” 

“Ah, right, yeah, of course. You just kiss as… friends?” 

Goemon stiffened. “Y… um. Yes.” He finished curtly, and Lupin rolled his eyes, endeared by the nature of his stoic friend. He knew that Goemon knew that  _ everybody  _ else knew about him and the gunman, but he vehemently denied it anytime someone tried to bring it up-- Jigen, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. 

Another pound to the door, and it rattled violently on its hinges, threatening to break down at any given moment. Once again, Zenigata’s voice damn near blew out Lupin’s eardrums, and he tensed for a moment, preparing himself for a fight of some sort, a bead of sweat beginning to form involuntarily on his brow. He wasn’t afraid, per se, but after that last encounter with the inspector… 

“Say, Goe...mon,” he added that last bit rather quickly. “how far along do you think the others are? I don’t want Pops breathing down my neck again. Literally,” 

Goemon shrugged. “It looked as though both were struggling to carry the painting efficiently, and that Baudelaire character was taking his dear sweet time in leading them away. He was very cocky,” 

“I suppose he had to be, he seemed pretty nervous to be dealing with us,” Lupin shrugged, damn near wincing as another jostle to the door had him staring at the handle. Had it been locked? Had they bothered to lock it? He was sure that they had. Or, at least, maybe Jaques had when they entered. Which was, admittedly creepy, but right about now, it was needed.

A nasty sneer arose from Goemon’s face. “He’d better be,” he grumbled, and Lupin almost smiled; he loved it when the samurai got peeved the way he was getting now. Not that that was a particularly good thing to with upon one’s friend… but damn was it funny! 

“Sir,” there came a muffled voice at the other end of the door, and both Lupin and Goemon perked up, muscles tensing as, with bated breath, they listened to the conversation on the other end. Truth be told, they couldn’t exactly tell what was being said-- it was all just a mish-mash of murmurs and hushed whispers. 

Furrowing his brow, Lupin tiptoed forward and leaned in toward the door, letting his eyes flutter closed as, gently, he pressed his right ear up against the wood, feeling the old material scrape against his skin momentarily before he was able to process the noise on the other side. 

He wasn’t sure what was being said, but it sounded like Zenigata was arguing with one of his subordinates-- coworkers? He wasn’t entirely sure where the inspector stood in the pecking order of his job, but he was damned sure it wasn’t very high. How could it be? For somebody who was such a bumbling mess all the time, he found it hard to believe that anybody could possibly respect him, especially enough to consider him a superior. He just didn’t have what it  _ took,  _ really, didn’t have the guts or the morals or whatever else was needed to be a grade-a cop. 

Lupin smirked, unsure of why he had been concerned at  _ all  _ earlier; Zenigata was like a big, old dog: clumsy, dopey, and frankly, not cut out for any kind of new tricks. At  _ all.  _ Lupin really didn’t have anything to be afraid of, not when he knew he--

did the lock just click? 

Lupin had been right about the door being bolted. It definitely  _ had  _ been. Of course, though,  _ had,  _ past tense, was the keyword here. Good ‘ole Pops had picked that damned lock, and now the handle was turning.

Before he knew it, he was flung backward due to the force in which the door was thrown open. 

With a yelp, he landed on his ass and hissed out a string of swears, nothing coherent of course, but so long as it existed he’d make do with what he had. Immediately, several armed officers poured into the building, following Goemon and damn near trampling Lupin in the process, who yelped and pulled his legs into his chest to avoid the oncoming foot traffic. He furrowed his brow as, awkwardly, he stood, rubbing at his ass with a light pout, and he discovered that the room had cleared except for one very noticeable, very obvious officer. 

“Hiya, Pops,” he gruffed, and the inspector grinned ear to ear-- a mean, almost scary grin if Zenigata could ever be described as scary. 

“Looks like that tip I got was right after all, hm?” He arched an eyebrow, taking a slow, shuffling step forward. “The rest of your friends should be caught and taken in by the time I get to you. Which, er, won’t be long, you know,” 

“So that’s why you’re just standing there?” Lupin smiled loosely, slowly putting his Walther away before a wicked idea stung at the back of his mind, and his smile turned to a smirk as, slowly, he drew out the gun once more, finger teasing the trigger  _ just  _ so, business end pointed right at the inspector, who tensed visibly. 

“The hell do you think you’re doin’, Lupin?” He asked, his gaze trained on the gun, as the gun’s gaze locked right on him.

“You know I could shoot, right?” The thief asked. It was a lie. This whole act, in fact, was a lie; he was simply trying to think of ways to distract his rival as to… as to… well, as to something. Perhaps he just liked teasing him, perhaps this was all just part of the game they played. “I could pull this damn trigger and you’d be gone,” 

For a moment, he saw Zenigata’s jaw tighten, a certain type of darkness creeping into his eyes as, cautiously, he shuffled forward, hand slowly drifting for the handgun in his own holster. Was he afraid? Mad? Maybe he was testing the thief. 

And then, suddenly, just like that, the inspector’s hand merely shifted, instead reaching for his cuffs, which he retrieved casually with a soft  _ clinkink  _ sound. He scoffed. 

“You wouldn’t shoot me,” he snorted. “put the damn gun away and just admit you’ve been defeated,” 

At that, Lupin smiled. Beamed, almost, slotting his Walther back into its shoulder holster, absently adjusting the lapels of his crimson jacket as he went along. “Well, I guess you got me. But I--” 

The sudden whir of helicopter blades quickly cut him off, and he perked up at the explosive sound, attention immediately directing itself to the exit in which everybody else had headed. Finally. It was time to move out. 

And then, Zenigata looked at Lupin and Lupin looked at Zenigata and they looked at each other and for a moment, all was still, nothing happened, nobody breathed, moved, blinked,  _ nothing,  _ it was just thin air and thick silence that lingered between them, every muscle in both of their bodies tensed and ready to move. 

And so, move Lupin did. 

Blowing a quick kiss over his shoulder, he scampered out of the ornate room, cringing at the fact that it would for  _ sure  _ be completely and utterly demolished by the police once they got there to investigate and possibly find out where Lupin’s next destination was.

Behind him, he heard the inspector bellow his name with enough force to shatter bullet-proof glass, and he damn near clicked his heels together like a giddy little showhorse. He, of course, did not do something so stupid, though that was purely because past experience had led him to terrible, awful things, like three days of jail time, which meant three days of lectures and uncomfortable monologues from Zenigata. That man could certainly talk, that was for sure. 

He rounded a corner, feet pounding against the pavement as he neared the sound of the helicopter, able to see the way the whirring blades caused gusts of wind to crash into nearby trees and make the whole world almost topple over with each powerful turn it made. Soon, he would be up and out of this place and instead on his way to the wonderful, wonderful Lyon, where the women were beautiful and the wine was exquisite. On top of that, he’d be treated like a God-damned  _ king.  _ This Jaques guy, whoever the fuck he was, seemed to be Lupin’s biggest fan, and Lupin simply wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to play him like a fiddle. 

He rounded one more corner, and then with widened eyes, gazed as the contraption lifted itself off of the floor, hordes of policemen falling off of its sides and tumbling to the ground like a pack of lemmings that were simply determined to jump the cliff. He grinned, a thrill trickling down his back and making his arms pump faster and faster as, while the machine was rising slowly into the air like a great, towering beast, a small black ladder was unfurled. At the top of that ladder sat none other than Goemon and Fujiko, who were both yelling something at Lupin-- though he couldn’t hear what. 

They looked panicked-- far too concerned for Lupin’s taste, really-- and he almost tossed them a disdainful scowl, as their expressions were beginning to make his stomach churn. Was there a reason to be scared? To be nervous? All he had to do was make it to the ladder, and it was obvious he could do that. It wasn’t as though Pops was at his heel though, right? 

...Wrong, actually. 

And the worst part was, he only realized how wrong he had been when a pair of arms scooped him up off of the floor and held him rather tightly to a familiar barrel chest, the scent of cheap cologne and cloves stinging at his nostrils, warmth encasing him in the uncomfortable humidity of the evening, one hand pressing into the space between his thighs and calves and the other curled around his arm, practically forcing his face to bury into the inspector’s clavicle.

“Hey!” Lupin yelped, not used to being carried in such a manner, and he began to worm as Zenigata came to a stop, holding him tightly in his arms, squeezing around him. The inspector looked down, brow furrowed, a grin plastered all across his face, hair slightly disheveled and sweat glistening across his features. Due to the dampness of the air, the longer bits of his hair had spiraled gently into loose, wavy curls that stuck up from his salt and pepper head. They quite matched his unkempt appearance, pairing fittingly with his loosened tie and the furrowed wrinkles creasing his trenchcoat.

“You’re not going  _ anywhere,”  _ he snorted, and Lupin could feel his chuckle reverberate all throughout his chest. He scowled and had half the mind to stick out his tongue childishly, but refrained, instead choosing to glare with as much force as he could muster. “I’ve got you. Just like the last time, before that stranger came in and ruined it all-- but he’s not here to save you now, is he?” 

Lupin continued to wriggle and struggle but to no avail; he was held  _ tight,  _ and there was no hope of even possibly loosening the inspector’s grip, as his hands were pressed firmly into his own sides. He could outwit and outrun Zenigata any day lickety-split (well, maybe not so much outrun anymore), but even he could admit that the inspector was most definitely stronger than him when it came to any sort of physical feats. He scowled. 

“You know, it’s almost concerning how easy it’s getting to capture you, Lupin. I--  _ FUCK!”  _

Abruptly, Zenigata jumped back as, narrowly, he avoided a bullet that was headed straight to his foot, flailing his arms awkwardly and relinquishing his hold on Lupin in the process, though he recognized his mistake the split second it was made. 

It only took a moment to recover from the initial shock of being dropped, and the very moment Lupin realized that he was no longer held in Zenigata’s arms, he sprinted off, scrambling to his feet and bolting forward like a mutt being chased by animal control (though he supposed that’s practically what was happening in reality, huh?). Rather gracelessly, he tripped over his own shoes, nearly eating concrete in the process, though who could blame him for being a little bit clumsy? He was mortified that this was the second time he had been caught, physically at least, by the inspector, but the feeling of rushing away from the officer and the several policemen who were now after him was beginning to make him far too giddy with adrenaline to care any longer than a mere stumble. 

The helicopter had moved closer in the time it took to free himself, the ladder dragging gently against the ground as the whirring blades drowned out any and all noise that even attempted to break through. Sweat dripped down the side of his cheekbones, a determined expression struck all across his face as closer and closer and closer he grew to his way out, his escape. His breath quickened and then caught in his throat, and he reached outward, running faster, preparing to latch onto the nylon rope rungs of the black ladder, his stomach coiling with a familiar excitement. 

And then, just like that, he was clinging onto the thing as though his life depended on it, wind whipping his hair to and fro, jacket threatening to rip off of his own damn shoulders as his knees locked and his fingers gripped and he was pulled up by his friends up at the top. Grinning, he looked down at Zenigata, the twinkle in his eyes bound to be visible from fifty miles away. It certainly did wonders when illuminating the red, angry expression worn on Zenigata’s face as he howled something that Lupin couldn’t quite hear, but could very well guess what it was. Perhaps it was for the best that the helicopter’s blades were swallowing up every other sound. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the notes i leave @ the top n the bottom of each chapter r so unprofessional am i going in ur cringe comps,,, 💔💔
> 
> also the past several chapters have been like. exceptionally boring. i was kinda going through a rut with my writing but i think i'm over it! thank you for reading <3


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